


It's a regular day **On Hiatus For Now**

by whyamidoingthisitswrongbutiloveit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Charlie Is Alive Bcause Fck You, Implied verbal abuse in the past, John is a good father, M/M, Misunderstandings, Rating May Change, Slow Build, coroner!Dean, mary is alive because fck you, so many fcking layers like seriously get comfortable and have food prepared this will take a while, tags TBA as the story unfolds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 33,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyamidoingthisitswrongbutiloveit/pseuds/whyamidoingthisitswrongbutiloveit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being Dean Winchester is like being wine or cheese, the older the riper, or some shit, but he sure as hell wasn't ready to loose hope in romance at 22.</p><p>Cas found himself in an unhealthy relationship. The scary thing? Yeah, it was all so very subtle, so very slow. It became normal.</p><p>Cas' and Deans worlds are connected in quite an unexpected way. Cas finds his old courage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's a regular day.

**Author's Note:**

> updated note:
> 
> I have trouble to make dialogues go fluently so it'll likely be filled with descriptive dialogue than actual talking, but this might change. Big shout-out to all writers I have had the pleasure to read from, you are very inspiring and soothing teachers.
> 
> constructive feedback is highly appreciated. I am still learning how to use words, and certainly many ideas or perhaps phrases are what others have used before me. please understand it as a nod to your writing genius, an easter egg so to speak, and not as plagiarism.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr as [Theogenes Daughter](http://theogenes-daughter.tumblr.com)

 

 

It's a regular day in May.  
Yes, he has visitors. Friends and partners come to grill, beat his ass in war games on a console. Some spend the night, some even the weekend and sometimes it lasts months, and it's cool.  
  
  
It's a regular day in March.  
It isn't too hard to find partners and even easier to make them give and take what they both want and need, but he doesn't feel like it. His partners from work try to set him up (gorgeous material, both from character and in regard to eye-candy yet, lo, no spark) but in the end they too, give up.  
  
It's a regular day in July.  
The sun beats down on the concrete walls and roads of a city enthralled in summer, a city like any other really. Each city has her beauty, her parks; and also her not-so thrilling parts that no one really likes to talk about.  
He's 22 and wonders what's still in store for him.  
He remembers The Fight Club, The Narrator's visits to self-help groups and copies it, relieving himself of imagined pains that cover the tracks of those he truly feels, baring his soul in a lie that still makes him sleepy after a good evenings' crying.  
  
  
It's another regular day sometimes in autumn, or perhaps it's closer to winter. Time slows down as if it is drowned in molasses.  
He ignores the scathing voice sneering that "being OK with being alone is certainly not the same as being OK with being lonely". He is not. Let's rephrase that, he isn't alone and sure as hell he is not not-okay with being lonely. Because he is Dean fucking Winchester, a catch, he still gets the smiles and he had the weirdest weekend with a yoga instructor. A few months back, somewhere in May or June, before July, before going all Fight Club about insomnia. NOT correlated.  
It was still warm outside, but now he could sneak to the radiator and just slightly lower the temperature deemed pleasant and fold himself in between the warmth of a smile and legs and rest his head in the the bend between a slender, smooth neck and delicate shoulders.  
He's still a catch, still gets offers and thinks the next time might be the it he's been waiting for (absolutely not desperately)... well, for longer than a few weeks or a weekend with a bendy yoga instructor. She was sweet, of a kind disposition, and she liked to cuddle. She was absolutely gorgeous. After the novelty wore off though, the spark was missing for both and... yeah, they do keep in touch. By now it has the bittersweet taste of a childhood romance of long forgotten summer camps.  
  
Being Dean Winchester is like being wine or cheese, the older the riper, or some shit, but he sure as hell wasn't ready to loose hope in romance at 22.  
  
  
It's another regular day in winter. Dean is 24 and a hopeless cuddler.  
After debating with himself if he should simply fill the empty feeling in his stomach with some golden liquid, he tosses a pillow over his head and grunts, having learnt a few years back that these feelings are bastards and not only do these bastards float atop any kind of booze but the fuckers actually multiply and he sees them double. And it's a bitch in the morning, too. So he stays away almost completely except for a few beers with _teh bitches_ , as Charlie likes to call their little mismatched family at work.  
  
Instead of a warming liquid that'll likely send him further down The Downward Spiral he listens and gruffs along to Trent Reznor hating himself on Mr. Self Destruct. If his voice breaks, no-one will know.  
  
  
The by now mystified, holy, soothing mantra of "I am not lonely" is supported by the three additional pillows he always has tucked behind him to give a sense of a _somebody_ next to him. After waking up the first time with a choking feeling of full-blown solitude he moved the bed around, long side to the wall, so the pillows never fall off again. In hope to kick off the New Year with a bang, he had pulled his bed back to the middle of his bedrom but transferred it back the next morning. They've been seeing each other since November 7th. 'You are too clingy', was his reason. Dean had wanted to hold his hand during their few dates and then during the countdown. On January 1st, 01:29 AM, a huffing Dean decided that next time, he won't wait for almost eight weeks to voice his need for touch. He doesn't even require sex, immediately. Being close to someone works on so many more levels.  
  
  
It's a regular day in April, and he has scored a free table in a sweet coffee shop in a side street by seconds before a downpour, followed by a mini-invasion of a handful happy-go-lucky tourists in their teens barging in, their backpacks filled with dirty laundry and hopes for a better life when they return home. The room lights up a little; they smile at him for offering to share his table with them. They leave as soon as the rain stops, and the light dulls slightly.  
Which is absurdly funny, ridiculously hilarious, _really_ , because when the sun was hidden the room had more light and now the sun shines probably out of Gods asshole and the people rejoiceth and still it seems a little faded around Dean.  
  
  
A few tables away, a man with a face, certainly, somewhere, on his body and a man with a chiseled jaw that would be complimented by Malcolm Reynolds for real, in fact a profile altogether enticing, seemed to have some sort of discussion that escalates quickly.  
"You look down on me." - "We have a misunderstanding, please listen, it's only an offer for you to consi-" - "I am tired of this, you have no respect." - "Please tell me what I did wrong then. I cannot apologise for an error I am unaware of if you wish me to be sincere." - "There you go again, making yourself better than me, IN PUBLIC."  
Until now, chisel-jaw has kept his replies to a soft murmur, with a slight waver in his voice but the non-face seems to grip at anger which suddenly explodes in the face of the other male, taking over any kind of personal space. Chisel-jaw keeps sitting up straight, keeps his shoulders square and lets the lava rain down on him.  
  
"You, with your books an' oh so proper fucking ampicable speak an' fancy fucking suits an' sensible shoes and your fuckshit undergraduate studies are NOT THE BETTER MA-", he doesn't get further. With a few strides, Dean is at their table.  


"It's impeccable language", Dean hisses, pressing his left forearm into the offenders chest to back the guy away, keeping his right hand free for any kind of necessary motion, "And this coffee shop is hardly the place for you to spew obscenities, keep it down or I'm sure they will make you leave, alone too, because by how you clenched your fists in his shirt, they sure as hell won't let him walk away with you." He pauses, pulls back to his full height, squares his jaw, effectively standing between them and looking at non-face, finishing with, "I know I won't." 


	2. Today Is April the 27th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back-pedalling to reality, thanks to the calming help thinking of family provides, Dean comes back to an angry looking husky puppy and some serious snipping fingers in front of his face.

Today is April the 27th, Dean notes, and they've known each other for less than 90 minutes.

The sun shares her last rays across the streets on what marks the first real day that carries some significance. Sure, there were quite a few others; birthdays, Sammy's graduation and 21st birthday (no one remembers the day after, so it presumably _was_ a good party), some sweet dates, Dean's own graduation.  
But today? His gait feels different. His shoulders are relaxed. It's the 27 th of April and he tastes summer on his tongue. Something familiar warms him from the inside.

 

They are moving Cas' few belongings in two boxes the kind florist across Cas' almost-home has given them to bring his belongings to his own home.

"We re-kindled again recently. He seemed better, had started therapy, or so he said, and I felt it was worth a try. After offering that I go with him to therapy, to understand what I can do to help him, we had another fight. Or he had, to be honest. That one was painful for several reasons. Today I tried again, but today was, luckily for me I guess, worse then the previous fights before. It might have turned out different behind closed doors." Cas loads his box into the trunk of a sleek black car he learnt Dean calls Baby and has an almost amorous relationship with, so he's extra careful with the box.

Apart from the interrupting groan ("close to eighteen months after he started?"), Dean has listened without so much as voicing an opinion though by the way he holds his body, he's royally pissed. Cas wonders if he said too much. Dean is a police officer, so Cas felt safe with sharing two addresses to a complete stranger. He's an officer off duty, too, the story behind the impromptu move - well, it should be off-record, right? He asks as much.

 

Dean is seething, all right.  
He's seen enough shit and too many but-they-promised-to-not-do-it-agains and Cas had actually had the sense to keep away for over a year, had the mind to not give up his own apartment even after four years of a rocky relationship but he.came.back.twice. Why would anyone do this. No matter which kind of assault, verbal or worse, they are without exception wrong and should be the sorry first mistake and without question the quickest incentive to leave a manipulative asshole asap: as soon as their mask falls. It is off-record as long as he can help it but wishes it wasn't.

Noticing his remark about going back to abusive partners has had Cas square his shoulders again, Dean feels like an ass for apparently being misunderstood to be able to blame a victim.

"Thank you for so freely sharing your poor opinion of my conduct and character", Cas replies, face smooth and unreadable.  
Dean snorts and outs himself with "Please don't call me Mr. Bridges, Miss Austen, you're going to regret it" to which Cas stares at him for about four seconds and finally the smooth mask slips.

 

There are different kinds of laughter. Maniacs might cackle and yell _no laughter without slaughter_ , some might sound like a Guinea pig or as if they have trouble breathing, but usually it's a love child of a scrunched up face and some sort of noise. Nothing prepares Dean for the supernova of Cas' face and the mating call that erupts from his throat.

It's universally known that laughter can make anyone beautiful. There are smiles and there are those people who light up the entire room with how their face lights up.

“It simply is not fair when a grown man with scruff is adorable”, is the only thought Dean's mush of a brain can manage before everything goes to hell with the realisation of “Well, we're fucked buddy.”

 

The correct and likely most realistic description of Cas' laughter probably would read similar to "gargling gravel and drinking burning whiskey while standing (in a manly fashion) atop two Mustangs galloping across the prairie towards the setting sun and then (in a very manly fashion) pissing off a cliff (in a _super_ manly fashion) while women weep and dry their tear-stricken faces with the earth he walked on as he refused to sire their child and men beating their chest while howling at the moon", but Deans tongue (and evil twin downstairs) are simply interested to check out how high-pitched the guy could scream. When would his voice break? What would Dean need to d-- think of Sammy with pigtails and an apron in apricot colour with white knee highs is riding a farting whale and the fart lifts his apron and Sammy wears a lacy lilac petticoat underneath and STOP IMAGINING ANYTHING ELSE.

Yeah. Sammy always helped. Having a brother has it's perks.

 

Back-pedalling to reality, thanks to the calming help thinking of family provides, Dean comes back to an angry looking husky puppy and some serious snipping fingers in front of his face.

“I asked”, Cas huffs, “whether you are fit to drive, you seemed spaced out for a solid minute.”  
“Sure, let's go”, Dean tries for smirky-sexy-bastard but then Cas levels him with “Yeah? Because I enquired twice before you heard me”, and a baby-replica of the smile that had Dean zoned out in the first place and ~~lookitthoselips~~ SAM WITH PIGTAILS.

Arriving at Cas' apartment complex halfway through Purple's Machine Head later, Dean is proud of three things:

  1. he did NOT gush and quote Ritchie Blackmore's epic description of how they recorded the album through a labyrinth across halls, bathrooms, balconies, bedrooms and snow
  2. he did NOT pout that they turned the music down in the middle of Lazy
  3. he did NOT wait until Cas exited the car to take a sneaky look.



Cas grins and stacks his box onto the one Dean is holding to unlock the door. He turns around and takes the first box to put it onto the low table next to the door, while Dean makes sure to not cross the threshold. Instead he holds the box in front of him when Cas turns around to pick it up, only to turn around again and eye him, perhaps a little warily.

Dean muses about the unfairness of life as Cas does something Dean has wanted to do for the better part of half an hour: he is gently sucking on the right half of his lower lip. They are almost of the same height, but the bastard has his chin slightly lowered and looks up through his flipping eyelashes.

 

“Would you like to come in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update:  
> Incorporating speech is challenging at first but I assume (hope) it gets better with time. 
> 
> This is still an experiment, so I played with different styles of narration.  
> If my sentences are too long or complicated or (Castiel help me) my written humour is awful for you (we Austrians tend to use lawfullyawful black humour), please be kind and leave a comment what could be improved.


	3. Some People Try To Be Tall By Cutting Off The Heads Of Others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In short, Cas found himself in an unhealthy relationship. 
> 
> The scary thing? Yeah, it was all so very subtle, so very slow. It became normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a quote from Paramahansa Yogananda
> 
> I am not.happy.at.all with how it turned out but the first version got deleted due to my incapacity in working with Jotter Pad and now it feels forced but.. oh well.  
> it's written in a confusing way because Ms behaviour does not make sense to a healthy mind so of course it's whiplash all over the place.

Mike was adamant that moving in together even before finishing uni was absolutely necessary, “After all, it's not as if things are likely to change later, right? So what if the flat is expensive, we can make it together. All you need to do, love, is to keep up with your studies. I'll take care of finances. Nah, love, you don't _need_ a job. I can provide for us both, really."

But something kept Castiel from taking the last step at first and self-respect kept him away from giving in later.

What it was, at first, he didn't know but he tried explaining it to Mike anyway.

“I simply think it is too early” was shot down with logical arguments of sharing financial burdens ("you know, you _could_ take a 10-hour job or the like, if it makes you feel better?"), living together would also make it easier to be together, and “we could take turns on house keeping, you know that you forget to go shopping and then live on salted rice for two days" but after the third No it changed slightly.

“I want to be independent" was reversed to a blame game of not caring enough about them, not wanting to "keep this relationship alive", and “why can't you just try to work with me, you know how much I care."

Then Mike would leave, to 'cool down' and ask for advice what he did wrong to have had upset Cas so much. Mikes' friends never asked Cas what happened; they'd meet with Mike, talk, have a drink sometimes and then Mike would call on Cas, and go to sleep on the couch in the living room. He said he "wanted to be with Cas but understands it doesn't feel right to share the bed so soon again."

Cas thought he was on his way home by then, little did he know Mikes' friends were still with him and heard, again, one side of the story. Little did he know that Mike was always on the edge of tears, since he wasn't allowed to cry in front of Castiel, but asked them to keep quiet about it since "Cas is under such stress, you know, with his studies and I really try to help him, you know? I offered to move together, we'd share the expenses but I wouldn't expect him to work right away... You know he is a bit tight with money, but he won't let me help in any way. I guess I hurt him, again, in his own perception of independence or... I don't know. I love him, I really want this to work but... I am afraid, too. What if he decides one day that he's had it? He refuses to explain why he doesn't want us to move together. No, please don't talk to him about it. I don't want him to be even more mad at me. I know that I'm ready to spend my life with him, there's no need to pressure him into it. I fear if I try, he'll end it.”

Castiel wondered how he did not notice that Mike turned into someone who would not accept “no” for an answer. What was worse, he wondered how he hadn't noticed a lot of things. Small things, sure, but looking back now, it was painfully obvious that Castiel met a man who warped many things to his own preference. Mind games, isolation, blaming Cas for things he did (or didn't) when he could not have known what was wrong or right.

In short, Cas found himself in an unhealthy relationship.

He had started to plan and adjust many things about Mikes' schedule but found it inherently harder and harder to keep up. A selective memory of vague plans with others made it seem like Cas had dreamt them being set up after all. Mike knew the little bits of insecurity and used them, seemingly without noticing. When Mike would make fun of Castiel, he bit the inside of his cheek because after the second time he reprimanded Mike in front of others, they – Cas' own friends – asked him if he did not think he maybe might have overreacted? Mike was almost constantly glued to his phone, but it very often took him hours to reply to Castiel.

 

The scary thing? Yeah, it was all so very subtle, so very slow. It became normal.

 

Being in a relationship changes people, and that's a good thing, considering that the change is brought about by another human being and them playing an important role in your life is enough to better yourself. So making some compromises is a good.

For example, too not eat garlic bread with extra _-extra_ garlic on a date night. Though Cas had once jokingly sworn that he would only date people who loved onions and garlic the same way he does – these little things are okay, when Mike turned away, at first while laughing, and threatened to bathe Cas in tooth paste.

But after months, years really, Cas had compromised parts of him that he had never intended to let go. He had neglected university for three weeks because Mike was freaking out about a fellow student until Cas finally came to his senses.

When he broke it off, he did so in a calm way, explaining all these things. By now, to many others, it sounded crazy. So he stayed away for about a year. Apparently, if he was crazy, he would notice this with others, too. He didn't. Cas' friends were glad, but hardly could clap him on the shoulder and say, 'Good riddance'. They kept in touch and Mike swore he had changed. 

Stupid and naïve, Cas attempted to re-kindle a friendship he had once cared for deeply. Though it was apparent that Mike tried, that he had changed _something,_ Cas could not – would not – let himself be lured into a renewal of a deeper acquaintance. He suspected he skirted along a very fine edge, bringing some of his belongings over to Mikes' place (Mike swore his therapist assured him it would be helpful) to be caught again in a web but was too cautious, too careful. Mike was loosing patience and it showed. He was getting impatient about not having physical relations, he was impatient about Cas being cautious.

 

Still, Cas offered to go with Mike to his therapy sessions, perhaps he could help in some way. Mike said no and no and no again, each time getting more and more agitated. Today, he apparently lost it and was done with being or pretending to be patient.

Castiel didn't mind touching. He also didn't mind slight manhandling, more often than not it would pool heat somewhere behind his navel when his partners and him could hardly wait to take each others' clothes off.

Today, he only felt a heavy coldness settle in his stomach when an angry fist grabbed his dress shirt.

Breathe.

It will be OK.

Someone pushed Mike back, and after a few rough words which were rebutted with an assertion Castiel remembered form his earlier self, Mike left.

 

The dude, _Dean_ , was with the police force, an officer or something. Cas was still a bit dazed from his first encounter with a side of Mike he had only suspected, so seeing his ID-badge-thingy was enough. Certainly his friends would have helped, but he wanted it to be done, now.

Also, this Dean guy was calm where as his friends were emotionally invested. Bal would probably try and beat the ever-loving shit out of Mike, Gabriel would force-feed him so much sugar he'd OD and Crowley, well, you never knew but he'd likely find some rabid zombies in some hell-pit and sic them on Mike. It would work out, for a few hours, until Mike would retaliate. This guy though? He wasn't emotionally invested, though caring for the greater good or what not, he would not freak out. Also, Castiel hoped that if they had the bad luck to run into Mike at his flat, he'd be too intimidated to do a stupid move against someone he has had no chance to calculate their reaction towards his behaviour. Clearly, getting someone up in your face without being aggressive, _per se_ , but making it clear that a line was not to be crossed had stopped Mike short.

 

Dean is quick to offer his help and they walk for about a quarter of an hour – apparently he had been on a walk before.

The other male doesn't ask, but Cas feels the absolute need to speak. So he does. Apart from an interrupting groan about Cas breaking it off the first time about 18 months after Mike started being weird, he's silent. After Dean outs himself as a Jane Austen fan (why not?) and not giving a shit about any kind of caveman-pretence, Cas laughs for the first time in what feels weeks. He wonders if he snorted or somehow spat on Dean because the guy looks lost for a couple of seconds.

 

They arrive at Mikes' apartment block. Quickly making a mental list, Cas asks the florist for a box or two to carry his belongings. The boxes are rather small but it's enough to get his stuff within a few minutes. He'll very likely never get his fugly sweater back (the one he knit himself in high school) but he's closing a chapter of his life and it's time to let ugly things go away for good.

A good half through arguably one the best albums ever recorded (and that was done with cables running through balconies, bathrooms, and flipping _snow_ but Cas feels no need to go all fanboy!Cas on Dean) later they arrive at his own home. Again, Dean proves to not be pushy. He doesn't even step through the door, instead holding the box in front of him for Cas to pick it up. Cas muses whether this is due to work-related habits or simply him respecting borders, but he appreciates it anyway. Putting down the second box, he turns around to face Dean.

He might have had a kind of emotional closure weeks, even months ago, and sure as hell he isn't ready to flirt but this guy is too good to pass up. He _seems_ nice. The subtleties of his behaviour, not pushing, not prodding, keeping outside of Cas' home completely – these subtleties hold a promise.

He became friends with Balthazar after the guy ran into him yelling “I AM AND HAVE AMAZEBALLZ!” at age 12 and knocked him over into the snow. Friendships start with weirder things than a random guy helping you pick up your stuff from your ex.

 

So, here they are.

Cas feels obliged to offer at least a drink or some kind of thanks and turns around, chewing his lip, and – damn, what, why? - shyly asks, “Would you like to come in?”

Rewards, Castiel muses, have different levels. Today, he has found the very rewarding door back into self-respect-land and he is guided by someone who could charm the knockers off of a lesbian nun.

“If you're comfy with having me, sure, thanks”, Dean flashes a smile.

A quick recon assures Cas that his place is presentable and they settle on the couch with a coke and some chips. He doesn't even know why, but he wants the other man to stay. A little longer, at least. They have barely settled on the couch when four successive, hard and rather ominous bangs at Cas' door make him jump and tense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah this is pretty much me ranting about being unable to help a friend because she won't let us get anywhere near her. it's got a lot of input from her life and I can't help her and her GF is a friggin psycho. sorry about that. the shit M does is what happens her. We are trying to get her out and we will succeed. The shit about Cas' own friends asking if his reaction wasn't too extreme? yeah, that happened to us and it was the wake-up call we needed to start Operation Rainbow Liberation, because we will unite all our powers  
> Getting my friend out of that hell? I'm Crowley and I turn into a hell-hound on demand.


	4. When Past And Present Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He rarely worked with victims directly, at least while they were alive, but he knew that using their name grounded most.  
> "Okay Castiel, listen."
> 
> Cas' and Deans worlds are connected in quite an unexpected way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to Simon Haynes, a god of programming, for sharing ywriter5 ([check it out](http://www.spacejock.com/yWriter5.html)) for free. I'm still playing with my options but I will definitively show my support in case I continue to use yWriter5

“Would you like to come in?”

Okay, this is weird, but in a good way. Dean had expected something along the line of 'Thanks for helping' and perhaps maybe had hoped to hear a 'see you around'. An invitation though, that's… different. 

“If you're comfy with having me, sure, thanks”, Dean cannot help but flash a smile he hopes does not make him look too happy. He is unusually chipper. 

"Most certainly. I know this isn't much but I'd feel horrible if I wouldn't show my appreciation. Please do come in." Cas affirms.

Cas' home is inviting. Most of his furniture is white, but instead of coming across clinical and cold, Dean again feels reminded of summer. Apparently, Cas likes summer too, because Dean counts at least fifteen or sixteen plants in the hallway and living room. While Cas disappears into the kitchen to get their drinks (" _I pressed elderberry juice myself, would you like some?_ "), Dean mulls over the last two hours of his life.

He had went for a walk and interrupted a quarrel. Guy #1, apparently slightly drunk - what time was it, five in the afternoon? - left barking obscenities, while the other had tried to stay collected. 

Dean had sat down vis-à-vis Guy #2, who apologised for the mess over and over, attempting to wipe the spilled tea and in between babbled something about getting a cab to get his stuff, all the while his hands were shaking. Dean had put his hand softly onto the forearm of the other male and succeeded in getting his attention; noticing _blue_ and asked for his name. He rarely worked with victims directly, at least while they were alive, but he knew that using their name grounded most. 

"Okay Castiel, listen. You stay put, I'll get some napkins, clear the table and then we are going to pick up your stuff. My car is a short walk from here." Patting his jeans' pockets, he had fished out his wallet and handed over his ID "I'm Dean, here's my ID, take a picture and send it to a friend or whatever, because I'm not letting you go there on your own." 

And now he's sitting on a grey sofa with a knit marine blue afghan. In the living room of Castiel - "Cas, please." Why? Because the dude had invited him in. Why? For no apparent reason other than being a swell guy. Or maybe he didn't want to be alone, who would blame him. 

Returning with two glasses, a carafe and some snacks on a tray, Cas sits down next to Dean. 

Before he can fill their glasses, four successive knocks make Cas jump. Dean follows him into the hall, subtly positioning him so he's hidden behind the door. After a quick glance through the fish eye on his door, Cas opens it.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


_"Please tell me you have tampons_. Of course my damn period decided to be three days ear- hey cupcake, what's wrong?", a woman's voice is soon followed by - Lisa Braeden. "I'm alright now, thank you. And yes, I do have some - in the bathroom, below the sink, please help yourself." Cas steps back and Lisa walks into the hall, says "Hi" to Dean and starts to continue to walk further but then does a double take, now openly staring. Cas, locking the door behind Lisa, is oblivious for a few moments. "There should be enough to last you until tomorrow I hope, but I could call Anna and ask… uh, Are you OK? Lis?"

"Yeah, I'm cool. Hey Dean, hang on a minute I've got to handle a slight situation." with that, Lisa retreats to the bathroom on the right.

"I take it you know each other?" Cas directs his gaze to Dean. "Yep, we met a couple of years ago but haven't seen each other for a while." Dean replies, unsure whether Lisa would care for him to share any further details. Also, he does not want to share. "So, I'm okay with all orientations and genders and all…" Dean starts, noticing a puzzled look on Cas' face, "but if you don't mind me asking, what do you, uh, need tampons for? It's curiosity, I'm cool with whichever answer you know." Cas snorts and shows a toothy grin "Yeah, no. My sister taught me very early on that every man should have tampons with him all the time, because, and I quote, 'apparently nature is a bitch sometimes'. Also, she used to come over a lot." Suddenly his smile turns rueful. "I do hope she will come over again." Before Dean can be as insensitive as possible and pop the question "Why did she stop coming over in the first place? Let me guess, because of the other dude?", Lisa returns from the bathroom holding a turquoise carton box in her left hand. 

"Is it OK if I take this with me? I'll bring you a pack tomorrow, alright?" and, after Cas nods, she kisses him on the cheek. "Thank you sweetie. Come over later, I'm in the middle of cooking so… You know, stove and all. Gotta run - nice seeing you, Dean, call me - Cas" and she's gone with a quick hug to Cas and a smile for Dean, her hurried steps quickly followed by the sound of a closing door.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Returning back to the sofa, they fall into an easy-flowing conversation about music and movies. "Dude, seriously, they are great and they play on Friday in the Pit, check them out. We have reserved a table, you're welcome to join us. It'll be hella crowded, but we'll squeeze you right in. We're a loud lot, but I distinctively remember you snapping your fingers in my face so I guess there's some sass behind your polite talk. Hm? Whatdoyathingwouldyouliketocome?" Dean is jabbering, and he should so stop it before he marks himself a complete fool. 

Cas' eyes show laughing lines around his eyes and he hums an affirmative _mhm_ while sipping from his drink. "If you inviting me is agreeable to your friends, I'd like to go, yes. Thank you for inviting me. When can I show up?" he enquires, pulling his phone out to program a reminder, Dean guesses, into his calendar. "The concert starts at seven thirty, our table's set for seven, but we're likely be there from six or half past six. You can show whenever you like - hey, how about we exchange numbers, just in case something comes up and plans change? Or, you know. If you need to talk. Or if your fellow shows up and you want him gone or…" _Shut up, Winchester_. 

"I agree, it would be good. Also, no, I doubt that Mike will show up. He ought to know he completely overstepped his boundaries. I assume he is at home or will be shortly, and seeing that I have both taken my stuff from his flat and given the key to the buildings' manager, the only thing that remains is to make a clean cut, which… ", Cas glances at his phone, "will happen now. Excuse me. Hello, Michael." Cas picks up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew, dialogues! I hope I successfully manoeuvred myself out of the corner I put myself into before.. did I? also: yes, Cas' character appears to be inconsistent - this will be addressed with the next update.  
> 


	5. Severing Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas finds his old courage.
> 
> And then, for a few millennia, time stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the delayed update (if anyone is still keeping track, thank you!) but upon my honour, I have been working about 60+is hours this week and I am dead.tired.

".. the only thing that remains is to make a clean cut - which will happen now. Excuse me. Hello, Michael. Yes, I took my things. Your key is with the manager, he confirmed the receipt. I have no further need of it. What? Yes. Absolutely. No, you ended things a few hours ago on your own, I am merely confir-- I see neither any obligation or need on my part to meet agai-- We have had this talk several times by now, Mich-- " his face darkens, brow furrowing, he stands up and walks over to the window. "Shut up, Myrkvisón, and listen very carefully, because I will say this only once. You are not welcome anymore. Stay away from my home, my classes, my family and friends, keep away from my entire life or I will end you. I may have been stupid enough to have agreed with a lot of things being done your way because at first I did not mind adapting. Somewhere along that line I accepted too much, but that I will deal with myself. But I have not been so stupid as to not keep your texts and messages. Do you understand? You are not untouchable. Stay. Away. Delete this number, you do not require it any longer. We are done." pressing the end-button, Cas turns around and exhales loudly with his eyes closed, his face softening.  
"That felt.. surprisingly good. I apologise for making you witness another scene." Cas opens his eyes finds a small smile on Dean's face. "It's cool man. Catharsis and all. Guess he didn't expect that outcome, huh. What did you call him, Mu... is he Swedish?" Dean knows he's fishing, and he knows Cas must _know_ that he's fishing. He just might have had in mind to let Charlie check the guy out but the name was said too quickly. Charlie is a genius, so she'll probably find him with the typical name's ending but chances are that she'll make him pay with two _additional_ foot massages per week for months, or demand precedence on movie night decisions for half a year or any other kind of thing that Dean will never admit he actually doesn't mind. Charlie is one of the most beloved persons in his life, how could he mind?  
  
"No, his fathers side is from Iceland and he opted to use his name. Apparently for some, nomen truly est omen, because myrkvi is darkness." Cas flops down next to Dean, pulls up his knees to his chin and wraps his arms around them, placing his forehead on his knees. They spend the next minutes in silence.  
Taking a deep breath, Cas straightens his back and chuckles lightly. "Oh dear. I haven't even covered all of it but... I've been all over the place, going left and being pulled right and then forward only to fall backwards. How I did not notice that I had chosen to forgo almost everything that I stand for to keep someone smiling who did not make me happy at all is a wondrous thing." and, stretching his arms above his head, seemingly pulls himself up, cranes his neck and Dean hears distinctive pops from somewhere along the lumbar vertebrae, making Dean wince remembering a brutal lumbago a few years back.  
"This might take some time to recover from, I believe. I need to call my friends, I need..." Cas pauses, looks down on his hands that had started shaking somewhat. "Why am I afraid? I keep remembering him grabbing my shirt but I hadn't been afraid then, why... ex...excuse me, please", even before finishing the sentence Cas swiftly stands up and goes back to what Dean remembers is the bathroom, locking the door. Dean's hurries to the door, but before he can knock he hears the toilet flush, then some water running, then some gargling sounds.  
A short while later Castiel unlocks the door, gaze on the floor, a slow breath escaping his lips, still a bit red from his head being forced down and the pressure escaping his stomach. He is slightly paler than before, his eyes a little red rimmed and they widen when he looks up and sees Dean standing less than an arms length apart.  
  
"Are you feeling better?" hearing the worry in Dean's voice surprises Dean likely more than Castiel, "How about you sit down and I'll make you some tea, huh?" and then the blonde is stepping back, to give him room, but Cas can't have that, no, so his hand shoots out and circles Deans' wrist. And then, for a few millennia, time stops.  
  
"You might want to talk to someone, you know, get it out of your system?" Cas is pulled out of a parallel world by a soft push to his shoulder, down on to the couch he doesn't recall walking to, and a weight that just feels _right_ settles next to him, not too far away and not too close, either. "So", Dean keeps eye contact and Cas wishes this look was soft and not just kind, "Are you telling me where you keep your tea or do you not mind that I rummage through your kitchen?" Then there's a flicker of Deans eyes, Cas misses where to by blinking, but the other male has abruptly stood up and walked over to the kitchen, already opening the cupboards, poking here and there so Cas can only look at perfectly shaped shoulders and jeans that fit illegally like the idiot he is and only raises on eye-brow in reply, making a (hopefully) non-committal little grunt.  
Dean ducks his head, and his shoulders sink, and when he turns around there is this adorable slight pink glow on his cheeks that makes his eyes shine green and he starts apologising, "I'm sorry I didn't intend to snoop around or pry it just, when I'm in the kitchen I get all handsy and..." a deep breath "And, anyway, sorry, but you weren't really _here_ so I figured.. it would... be okay, for the cupboards. Uh. Yeah."  
"No I-", Cas clears his throat, "No it is okay, thank you. I understand for some the kitchen is a private room." He shifts his weight so that he can put his left foot under his right knee and turn his body to Dean, his right leg dangling in a playful way that Mike hasn't been able to _weed out_ of his behaviour no matter how much he wanted it and no matter how much he had yelled at Cas.  
"I don't like it when others are in my kitchen too much, yes, but that's usually because others leave a mess. Guess I'm hoping you won't fuck up making tea." the reply makes Dean crack a smile and straighten his shoulders again. Cas likes their width.  
  
A few minutes later two mugs are on the low coffee table in front of Cas' couch and they are back in mutual silence that Cas finds comforting.The calming smell of mint tea mixed with elder berry juice rising with the steam is accompanied by the soft tick-tock of the clock above the TV.

Cas is in the past, remembering.  
Of how Michael was repulsed by any stretch of silence longer than what it took him to take a breath to continue his sentence, either speaking to no end about his life with out Cas - not in a good, including way to inform him of things happening, no, but make sure Cas knew he was missing out even if he never was invited or, surprisingly, if he was the meets were postponed. Now, it's quite possible Michael was playing his friends and Cas about the truth.

Cas is in between past and present, analysing.  
This silence is an excellent teacher of things seemingly lost and forgotten. Cas doesn't mind to talk, it's relaxing. But being able to not speak with someone while still feeling good? That was never wrong, apparently.

Cas is is in the present and he is breathing.  
Their mugs are almost empty and it's getting dark outside. His guest obviously notices the same and stares into his mug and then drains it, walks over to the kitchen and quickly washes it out under water before he turns around to lean against the counter. "So, Cas, it is getting late and I need to get home, but... I was wondering, we could exchange numbers, yeah?" Dean hopes his smile is as confident as he wishes he was himself, "You know, in case you need someone to talk to or something along the lines." 'Something along the lines of just the two of us meeting' is what he'd like to add, but of course doesn't.  
  
Cas is looking up. Cas is smiling."Yes, please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, positive criticism and feedback are highly appreciated. thank you for taking your time to read :)


	6. Remember, Remember, The Fifth Of November.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie, being the good friend that she is, pokes his ribs with her free foot. "Spill it, 'chester. I can feel you humming on the inside, what got you so worked up?" When Dean shakes his head and nods the universal Let's Watch Another Episode she stops her friendly poking and downright puts her foot into his armpit, which was her error, because even though Dean might squeak like he did when he went through vocal change during puberty, she is ticklish at the soles of her feet. Which, in turn, was Dean's error because Charlie's vocal chords don't rip, no matter how high she squeals.

Dean can't look away. It's possible he'll never see this guy again. He shouldn't have even entered his home. He had done enough to helping him move his stuff, he shouldn't have accepted an invitation because this is basically taking advantage of a hurt person, right?, so he should just walk away, he's not supposed to be here, the guy's probably fed up of keeping it together but what if he isn't and - "Shut it, Winchester", Charlie's voice quips up. "No self-deprecating talk, remember?"

"Time for a pep-talk á Charlie" is what Dean thinks he _should_ think but Dean's mind stays silent. Right, time to whip out the stupid.  
"So, are you telling me where you keep your tea or do you not mind that I rummage through your kitchen?" and then Cas licks his lips and Dean's eyes flicker down and he just.cannot. So he does the only logical thing and bolts. To the kitchen. He had offered to make tea and Cas is obviously out of it, and tea is soothing and Dean so needs something calming. When Cas had walked out of his bathroom he was slightly paler but his lips were flushed and looked so... so... _umnf_ and Dean had felt like a pervert, the guy had just thrown up after all. Not that Dean had never eaten on the table next to the body he was working on, but that's different. " _Deaannn, shut ittt_ " Charlie sing-songs in her don't-get-on-my-nerves-and-don't-freak-other-people-out-voice.  
  
Cas' kitchen is clean and nice. Things are where they are expected, but it's nice to see a bit of the kitchen, too. Dean has learnt that the kitchen can be as representative of the person as the state of their bedroom or the shelves that are behind the door. Cas likes tea, and he uses bowls instead of soup plates, and he likes to stack them onto the regular plates.  They are green coloured, a very soft green that might look white in harsh light.

He's almost done when he hears a grumble and remembers that this is the kitchen of a guy he doesn't know. Dean starts mumbling an apology about privacy and stuff but then Cas is sitting half cross-legged and his left arm is slung over the couch's back and he's smiling, "I don't like it when others are in my kitchen too much, yes, but that's usually because others leave a mess. Guess I'm hoping you won't fuck up making tea." The reply makes Dean crack a smile and he knows he's OK, in regard to making the tea but he needs to turn around and take some calming breaths and also think of Sammy in pigtails again because apparently he IS a pervert and an awful person for sexualising (or is it objectifying his features?) a man he doesn't know.

  
Fun fact: when Dean had returned to the table, both men had collected themselves somewhat. Castiel had stopped fidgeting and his breathing had calmed. Dean, on the other hand.. Yeah. The face he saw in profile at the café was attractive. Okay. But appreciating ~~someone's face~~ something at IKEA (so what, Dean is a fan, sue him.) does not mean it's necessary to ~~tap that~~ buy it. Or stare.  
  
Which is scary as smeg because his reaction to the other male is getting ridiculous.  
  
The face he turned around to after non-face (Michael, he recalls) left had flushed cheeks and wide eyes. Dean ignored the small explosion behind his belly button that crept up until his neck hair stood as he took in the Ägäis (38%), definitively did not perv up at a very inviting, kissable mouth (27%) and prayed to any kind of multi-layered supposedly celestial being that humanity ever had the stupid inclination to pray to.

He prayed that his best friend/nasty demon twin from downstairs would not try to introduce himself. Would not tear through his jeans and slap against the table, probably torpedoing anything away in order to make sure they had the SPACE the needed when the Ägäis became slightly hidden behind a light squint (okay, +5% for this superpower) as the very kissable mouth (+7%) spoke in a rasp (56%) that hit a kink he did not even know he had, again (aaand SOLD, this guy was a solid 134% of Deans type and had torpedoed every kink Dean had and made him discover a new one, too).

"Whoa, slow down, Dean, stop perving around." Charlie would likely smack him on the back of the head and hit him on the shoulders with tiny fists that held more energy and strength than one would suspect, and not only from gaming or typing furiously.

While Dean contemplates about becoming a pervert and what kind of implications this has for his future, if he even should have a future, he notices that it's getting dark and he inwardly groans at having to get up at four in the morning. He drains his cup (noting to get elder berry juice because mixing it with mint was the best.idea.ever.) and goes back into the kitchen to at least rinse it while getting up the nerve to ask.

Letting mind-Charlie on the loose to give him the pep-talk of the week, he takes a deep breath and turns around to lean on the counter, keeping his hands steady and looking nonchalant and _not at all_ freaking out, he catches Cas looking at him with that adorable puppy head tilt, only this time not with nerves on edge and fingers snipping. Instead, he gets Cas' number. For emergencies, obviously.

  
  
Half an hour later, he pulls Baby into the reserved parking lot ( _so_ worth the annual fee) and, yeah, he's cool, he's absolutely cool, and he definitely does not run up the last stairs with this tickling feeling in the hollow of the knees that makes him jump about. Charlie's snorting at Arnold Rimmer being himself or, rather, his holo-self, and Dean sits down next to her. She nudges his butt with her foot until he takes both of them and gives the complimentary massage because that's rule #13: whoever does the laundry gets a massage. Dean suspects the red-head established the rule just because Charlie loves massages and Dean does not care so much for laundry, but anyway, it's perfect.  
  
Charlie, being the good friend that she is, pokes his ribs with her free foot. "Spill it, 'chester. I can feel you humming on the inside, what got you so worked up?" When Dean shakes his head and nods the universal Let's Watch Another Episode she stops her friendly poking and downright puts her foot into his armpit, which was her error, because even though Dean might squeak like he did when he went through vocal change during puberty, she is ticklish at the soles of her feet. Which, in turn, was Dean's error because Charlie's vocal chords don't rip, no matter how high she squeals.

After a few minutes of shuffling, friendly punches to Dean's biceps and him using his weight in an ' _absolutely dishonourable way, handmaiden, dost thou feel no shame!_ ' by simply sitting on her and locking her bent legs between his left raised leg and his left arm, threatening to tickle her to death, a rather grumpy looking Charlie is, once again, lying stretched across two thirds of their second-hand sofa, Dean massaging her feet. His voice is soft, but he talks about the guy he met today and though he doesn't elaborate too much, Charlie can guess that Dean is, in fact, very much interested.  
  
She remembers Luther, when he walked into their flat the first time in November. She didn't like him that much, he had been a cold guy, distant. Still, he had something that had made Dean meet with him several times. He always came back way before eleven from their dates and his smile was small and tired. They'd watch an episode of 'Allo 'Allo or perhaps Arrested Development, but he never opened his mouth.

  
Then came New Years, and they were getting ready to get wasted at Benny's when Hannah received a call back to work, and Charlie drove her. While she was on her way back to the party she remembered that Andrea was promised the Mead from the last Medieval Fair and drove home to pick it up. Dean being home was not a good sign. So, Charlie had brought out her weapons of choice: ice cream and movies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you very much for reading! comments and positive feedback are appreciated as always :)
> 
> References:  
>  _Arnold Rimmer_ is a character from one of the greatest Brit shows ever made, find info on **Red Dwarf** [here](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0094535/).  
>  _smeg_ is a supposedly inoffensive expletive in the series  
>  get ready for the awesomeness of **Arrested Development** [here](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0367279/)  
>  and fall in love with **'Allo 'Allo** after learning about the series [here](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086659/)


	7. Hello Bitches, It's Me. We Have Work To Do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's fondest memory of Charlie's Skyrim 65-hour-marathon is: "Dean, shut up, I will take a shower once I'm done with this quest ... Oh, look, I discovered a _new_ cave."
> 
> And she's fiercely protective of those who she considers family. Not that she won't open a can of whoop ass on them if they deserve it. 
> 
> Charlie's new quest clear: she has to meet Cas, but in a very inconspicuous way.
> 
> GIRL POWER TIME!

January 1st, two in the morning, was nothing like Charlie (or Dean) had anticipated.  
"Come on, ChaCha, apart from a few weeks, I've been very much single my entire life. There's gotta be a reason why, only no one has had the kindness to elaborate in any way how I mess up."

"Shut it, Winchester, we have a deal. No self-depreciating talk, remember?" Charlie punctuates her last word by slapping his thigh to scoot him over on their couch, "Now, be a good boy and eat your ice cream." With that, she handed him a spoon and what appeared to be a month's worth of ice cream and put her legs over his and pressed play. 'Children of Men' started. They had gone to Benny's party together but neither had expected to spend the following morning/day at their flat, or at least in each other's company. Hannah had been on stand-by duty and had left the party because a drunk driver had caused a carambolage somewhere in the city centre, so Charlie had driven her to work. It was that evening that Luther had had broken it off with Dean. Perhaps the only positive aspect had been that Luther had made them walk out onto the street, allowing Dean to disappear home immediately, letting his friends believe that the pair had gone off to fool around. Charlie, apparently having remembered she had some Mead stashed at home had made a quick detour on her way back to Benny's but saw Dean's combat boots in the hall and the interrogation had begun. It was quick, but Dean was rewarded with both Children of Men and Nochnoy Dozor, subtitled of course.

Now, there are many who think that nerds who enjoy LARPing, computer games or have learnt Quenya or even perfected cursing in tlhIngan Hol are weird freaks whose only muscle function is to keep them walking away from an awesome life. There are even some that think that girls are only using game controllers because _the rumble function will make their lady parts tingle_ and that it is absolutely natural for female characters to show skin in order to guarantee higher HP, because that's what makes sense, you know, when your armour gets shredded so the epic!size boobs are wiggling, the female character uses the wobbling to slap you across the face while making pornesque sounds. Or whatever. Dean's favourite insult so far has been "pseudo-nerds with boobs", because apparently, to some, girls' biology prevents them to like nerdy stuff for real and if they do pretend to like it, it's only to appear hip or cool.

Dean _loved_ these people. Especially when they opened their mouth around Charlie, because Charlie? She was _one of those_ _nerds_. Yeah, those who live for LARPing, play computer games with a vigour (Dean's fondest memory of Charlie's Skyrim 65-hour-marathon is: "Dean, shut up, I will take a shower once I'm done with this quest ... Oh, look, I discovered a new cave."), has broken up with her girlfriend in Quenya in high school and ripped some Jock a new one in tlhIngan Hol in college, accompanied by some serious moves that had knocked him down when he thought his height will keep him on top of the food chain. Oh, and her _muscles_? Yeah, you don't want to mess with someone who actually knows how to use a long sword and light sabre from practising with Kevin for years. Also? Krav Maga. Sixteen years and counting. And she's fiercely protective of those who she considers family. Not that she won't open a can of whoop ass on them if they deserve it.

So when Dean says that he _really_ was happy that Charlie did not get her crossbow and went hunting for Luther, he means it.  
They had watched the movie mostly in silence except for the _wow_ s that escaped their mouths during the seemingly with out break recorded minute long single-shot sequences and their obligatory (that night _only_ three times) re-run of the ambush scene in the woods, and both gushing over Chiwetel Ejiofor _because of reasons_ that are not only connected to Serenity.

  
  
Yes, Mary and John raised their boys right in all the right ways, but the friendship with Charlie made everything even better.  
Charlie and the boys have been friends since primary school, and they loved each other as siblings by choice do; fiercely, without question and with the occasional smack on the head. She never understood what made people walk away from Dean. He wasn't perfect, hell no, that'd be boring. He was human and had bad days and messes up and forgets to turn off the lights in the bathroom in the night, and Charlie was certain he was also intentionally drinking directly from the OJ carton in a weak attempt of dominance. He wasn't kind in a wishy-washy way that made him seem gullible, he just was Dean. A boy who had grown up to be a man with respect towards everyone, but somehow it never was returned in a way that made him happy.  
  
When Dean was twelve, or thirteen perhaps, fourteen year old Charlie has had analysed Dean completely and could read him like a book. They weren't family if you take genetics as a basis, but Charlie, Sam and Dean were siblings by choice. They'd met on a playground in primary school and, in her playful way that hasn't left her in the last twenty years, Charlie had demanded loyalty of Knights Sworn To Her Highness, and a friendship was born that many had thought would break during puberty. It didn't. Siblings get into fights, they might even stop talking for a few days, but they always come back to the pack.

This friendship made Dean and Charlie move in together during college, and now that both were closing in on 30, Charlie was getting restless. Hannah and her have, throughout their seven years together, witnessed many people approaching Dean for his looks, stay for a few dates (nights) and then disappear as soon as he tentatively tried for emotional connection. Which is absurd, because it's not like Dean doesn't understand personal space or latches onto the body next to him like leech, he simply wants emotional warmth.  
Lisa was a sweet and charming woman, and Charlie had genuinely liked her. Her and Dean had dated for a few weeks, but it hadn't worked out for whichever reason, Dean never spoke of it. Luther had seemed like an OK guy. So when Charlie found a Dean that she had hoped to not meet again, the Dean that felt he deserved nothing, the one who felt like a failure, she was 2.5 seconds away from going all Godzilla on Luther's ass. But in these 2.5 seconds she made the right decision and stayed with Dean.  
  
  
Which is why, today, Charlie becomes very cautious when Dean come back home with eyes like _this_ and starts talking about some guy he apparently has fallen head over heels in a matter of seconds. From what she can gather, this Cas guy was in a long-term relationship gone sour, Dean stopped their fight, he appears to be a swell guy ("Don't they all at first", Charlie muses), and apparently Dean has a thing for blue eyes because he cannot stop gushing about ' _Summer Skies having love babies with Oceans, Charlie_ ' and if it wasn't sad that he ' _knows he hasn't got a chance since the dude just broke it off_ ', Dean would be offering a lot of teasing material for turning into a teenager crushing on an idol.  
Because this is the Dean she has seen once, in secondary high, when sixteen year old Dean has had the same shining eyes and a permanent smile etched onto his face it had to to hurt keeping his face like this all the time. It had lasted for close to two years, until the summer after their high school graduation when Aaron moved away and was never heard of from again. Dean had been in a dark place. The toxic combination of teenage angst and depression that wasn't taken seriously by doctors then, it has been a hard quest for Queen Charlie Bradbury to keep her handmaiden slash knight above the water. They managed.  
  
Charlie's new quest is clear: she has to meet Cas, but in a very inconspicuous way. Contemplating with Hannah (who is a mix between Mother Hen and Big Sister to The Three Musketeers) and Sam provides the perfect solution: it's time for a movie marathon.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for taking your time to read :)  
> References:  
>  **Children Of Men** (2006) by Alfonso Cuarón - Find info on IMBD [here](http://imdb.com/title/tt0206634/). Watch it and we can fawn over Julienne Moore and Chiwetel Ejiofor together.
> 
>  **Nochnoy Dozor** (2004) by Timur Bekmambetov. Find info on IMDB [here](http://imdb.com/title/tt0403358/). Please ignore the ratings, the movie (and books) are very much underrated.


	8. Celtic Punk Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas checks out the band for Friday night and contacts Anna. 
> 
> They might have to work out a lot of things, but one thing he knew hadn't changed. They are still family.

Cas cannot not recall when the last time was he went to a concert, so it's obviously time to go. Dean had promised the guys playing in the Pit were good, and from his description their music was situated along the celtic punk range of Good Music.

He made a mental note to look up the name while starting to prepare for the new week but felt himself drawn towards his computer within a few minutes. It has been too long since he had turned up the music and had enjoyed music for it's own sake, not as a provider of background noise during studying. After booting up, Castiel browsed a bit through his collection and put together a mixed list of Blood or Whiskey, The Gakk and Dropkick Murphys, quickly feeling a spring in his knees he hadn't felt for quite some time. Then he remembered to check out the Pit's page about the band playing on Friday and found a (for the Pit, at least) typical flyer with a picture of a cheering crowd, holding beer glasses, lolling tongues, Iros and spikes, a Scottish Flag in the back ground with a "The Red Tape Wixxers" scrawled across the lower half. The admission fee was, as Cas had expected, a hat collection affair.

He googled the band's name and found line ups from previous and some future gigs, and a Facebook page. Apparently, the local band was on the rise within the local punk community, and Cas felt very happy to learn of a new band. His love for music went deep, and supporting local bands was important. The small voice in the back of his head that reminded him he had forgone so many things in the last years that he hadn't even noticed a new local band was stomped down quickly.

  
  
The few videos online of the Wixxers were grainy and of horribly low sound quality even for a phone recording but the band had style and going by the crowd's cheers, they knew how to party. Cas read the comments and noticed that not a single comment was rude towards another user, in fact, the commentators were simply trying to out-do the other by being more Irish than the previous user. He snorted, it _was_ a Scottish flag on the flyer and also the back ground picture of the band's Facebook page, but oh well.

Cas clicked the next video titled "The Wixxers losing it" and his jaw dropped. The quality was still awful, but better than the previous vids and while there was the expected pogo dance, the band was _killing it_. It was a recording of a concert, clearly, and had started in the middle of a song. By the cheers and hollers, Cas could only imagine the collective adrenaline going through the concert venue. The bagpiper was jumping so high his knees were higher than where his hips were during the few seconds he was standing while _still playing the instrument without missing a tone_ , as far as Cas could tell. The drummer was a surprisingly slim blonde with something similar to a Feathercut, but not quite. He had sweat pouring from his brow, and it took Cas a while to notice that the drummer wore a weird skin coloured tube top, while almost everyone else had opted to strip as much as they could - including girls in the pogo pit, who had stripped down to their bras. He had noticed that the pogo had slightly slowed down, not by intensity, but the dynamic appeared different. While it the dance had played by the regular rules of helping fallen dancers up throughout the entire video, it took Cas a bit to notice the difference. He rolled back to the beginning of the vid and, yes, there it was: since the first two girls had stripped down to their bras, the guys had somehow made a ring around the girls to not strip them by accident. He hadn't noticed as first since the one recording hadn't zoomed in on that, but had kept the camera focus on the band.

 

After what seemed like the end of the song - seemed, since the guitarist flung himself off the stage into the crowd in an epic fail of stage diving, forgetting the stage was clearly less than a metre raised above the floor, but was still somehow carried above the crowd - the video was cut off. Castiel suspected by the sudden toppling of the focus of the camera that the person holding the phone was bumped into.  
  
Oh yes, he was looking forward to Friday. The few vids he found were promising a superb live performance; a combination of a good time, a few cold beers and from what he remembered the Pit's stage layout by, perhaps another hilarious stage-diving-featuring-face-planting-into-the-crowd by the guitarist. He closed the browser and pressed play, starting his play list and kicking it off with Dirty Aul War. Unlocking his phone, he quickly typed a message to Dean via Whatsapp: "Thank you again for the invite, I listened to some live songs and Wixxers are good. Would it be alright if I bring someone with me?" and tossed the phone onto the sofa. Figuring it better to start complete closure by unpacking the two boxes Dean and he had brought in in the afternoon, he went to sort out his stuff. When he was done, Cas checked his phone but had not received an answer from Dean yet. Which is OK for two reasons. One, Dean was probably still driving home and not checking his phone and two, and a much better reason, Cas noticed that only one tick was showing. So the message had not even been received. Dean's contact was shown to have been "last seen yesterday 3.18" so perhaps he had forgotten to turn of mobile data or - Cas shook his head and grimaced. His thoughts were all over the place again.  
  
He closed the convo and typed out another quick message to Anna, hoping he was still as welcome to her as she was to him. They were siblings, and as siblings are prone to, had some fights but Cas was well aware that he had withdrawn from his family and friends in what must have seemed pure disinterest.  
Anna's reply was quick but Cas smiled at her ever increasing typing failures:

 

> @mpvies, call u in 2hrs, I lpbe you!!!

and almost before he was done reading the first and felt his mouth stretch in the smile reserved for, especially, Anna's Unexpected Spelling Failures, another message trundled in

 

> movies & lube you

quickly followed by

 

> LOVE I MEANT LOVE YOU

and Cas could imagine seeing her face all scrunched up now, ignoring the movie in favour of typing (likely furiously) her expected message which he remembered had been part of their written conversations at least once per day. He was not disappointed.

 

> i HATE autocorrect

He sent her their traditional Golden Star with a "At least you tried" text below, feeling the warmth of love returning quickly when he received a picture in return.  
It was, obviously, the back of Anna's hand, complexion ghostly white by the light from the camera's flash in the dark room, flipping him off. Cas was smiling - at her behaving as if it hadn't been months, at the weird capture of Chris Pratt mid-yelling or burping, one never knows, and the face of some girl turning around with a look in her eyes promising she would set Anna on fire if she touched her phone again.  
  
Cas expected by now Anna had turned her phone to silent, but he also knew that apparently she hadn't changed his personalised ring tone (him sneezing after inhaling Helium), and that he needed to see her, the earlier the better.  
  
  
"I love you too, sis. going to a concert on friday @Pit, would you like to come with me? or meet earlier even? whatever is fine by you. whenever you can make it is fine. i missed you. enjoy the movie."  
They might have to work out a lot of things, but one thing he knew hadn't changed. They were family still and Anna was still absolutely cack-handed when it came to typing.  
  
Anna confirmed Friday and wrote she would call him Monday afternoon. By the time The Green Fields Of France was playing, Cas had finished packing his lunch for tomorrow and was ready to go to bed. He brushed his teeth to Captain Kelly's Kitchen and turned the lights off to Drunken Lullabies soon after. He's never had trouble falling asleep, but on this particular Sunday, he felt a calm in his centre he hadn't felt for a long time.  
  


  
  
Castiel had always been torn between loving to get to the end of a book because it meant closure (except for ASOIAF) and the uncertainty what the next book would bring (coincidently, again: ASOIAF), but he felt good closing this particular chapter of his life. Castiel was looking forward to a new chapter in his life. He was looking forward to Monday, looking forward to hear again from Anna and perhaps from Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for taking your time to read. in case you don't know the bands, please check them out! they are GREAT.
> 
> Cas' play list consist of  
> [ **Blood or Whiskey**](http://www.bloodorwhiskey.ie), and the song mentioned is [Dirty Aul War](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EjtbZk4_LQ4&index=4&list=PL4RbsYUj0bjDy-_4r95E7QWy5IitYxrer)  
>  the other band is [**The Gakk**](https://www.facebook.com/thegakk) and  
> [ **Dropkick Murphys**](http://dropkickmurphys.com/), the songs mentioned are [Captain Kelly's Kitchen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=agro9miL3bA&list=PLimdrtqAgBW22Zb_QmveXRK2zgeINJZIc) and [ The Green Fields Of France](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_G4eq9Fudc)  
>  and also [**Flogging Molly** 's](http://floggingmolly.com/) lovely song [Drunken Lullabies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=89NjEeHku8o)  
> hard to imagine but if you haven't read the series, please give: [**A Song Of Ice And Fire**](http://www.georgerrmartin.com/book-category/?cat=song-of-ice-and-fire) a try. Gore, tits, cursing and Dragons - what's not to love?  
>  The Red Tape Wixxers are a fictional band, I have tried to find a band, artist, or any kind of artsy-thingy connected with this name but haven't found anything. If you do know a band/artist/whatever with a similar name, please be so kind and tell me - I'll change it immediately!  
> The description I gave about the pogo slowing down is from my own experience, because it was hot as hell and everyone was stripping down as far as we could - and the guys throughout took care as much as they could to not strip us by accident. IT WAS AWESOME.  
> also, yes, the Band's name is a word play that will be explained later.


	9. I Need Mondays To Be Cancelled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time it is ten in the morning, he feels a little weird.  
> Usually Benny sends him at least three pictures of this cats during Sunday, and he had expected at least some drunk messaging after he left the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaalso, I'm off to kiss the sea, and hopefully will be back with some new chapters. for now, this and the following are published in great hope (puppy eyes!) that someone will read this. take care guys and enjoy your summer. read from you soon in september!

Monday.  
Monday is definitively the bane of Dean's existence, at least when it is a Monday that demands getting at four o'clock in the morning and he needs to get up. Now. If he doesn't turn of the alarm, Charlie will turn Dark Side and he does not want to risk her smothering him Khaleesi-style with a pillow (but with less _love_ and more furious rage), or worse, slashing Baby's upholstery or tires.  
  
Groaning, he flips back the blanket back and opens the windows to air his room. The pre-dawn, polar, _ball-freezing_ breeze helps him wake up quickly and while he ignores the fact that he's pretty much flashing the neighbourhood in his boxers, he twists his upper body left and right, hearing his vertebrae  crack and creak, pushing his fists into his upper back, below his shoulder blades and pushing in to the curve of his upper back to hear his both his sternum and vertebrae thoracicae crack, then craning his neck left and right and hears the hollow pop of his lower cervical vertebrae. After shaking out his arms and feet, he rolls out the mat to start his second morning ritual.

Clapping his hands together, he then proceeds to stretch his arms up and slightly behind him, breathing in through his nose while rising into mountain form and slowly breathing out through his mouth while he bends down into the forward fold. Bending down, he encloses his ankles with his hands and rests his head on his knees. By the fourth sun salutation he is fully awake and (almost) ready for anything the world can throw at him, and rolls up the mat. He's not into all the New Age crap, but when Charlie found out that some girls swore their period cramps had gotten better after starting with yoga, she made him go with her.

Being seventeen or eighteen, he was certain he was still eye brow-wiggling _bendy_ but he was as stiff as his morning wood, and in that moment when he couldn't touch his toes without crying because his hamstring was burning he understood that, yes, he might be young, but he is not necessarily as fit as the thought. The yogini had smiled and told him that it didn't matter how far he could stretch today, that some take weeks and some even months to feel and see a change, but that the first change already had happened: he had taken the first step and tried. Dean did his best to always keep this experience as a reference to learning new things - it takes time.

Charlie and him went to the school once a week. When they had moved for college they hadn't found a school they felt so comfy with as to go there weekly, but both had stuck to their morning routines. In summer they went to the park a few blocks down to where some yoga schools made weekly free training sessions. 

  
His third morning ritual being complete - making the bed - he goes for his Most Favourite morning ritual: brewing coffee. Let's be honest, it's the best part of the morning to come back into the kitchen after morning toiletries and smell coffee. Anyone who says otherwise either doesn't like coffee (which is weird, in Dean's book) or a liar (which, in Dean's book, is everyone who claims they don't like coffee). No offence to those who don't like coffee, but how is this physically possible?  
  
While he pours the Black Goddess into his Most Favourite Cup, with 'I Need Mondays To Be Cancelled' written across, he contemplates to write to Cas to ask if he'd like to bring a friend. He could then also offer to either pick them up on Friday. Yes, that's a good idea, Cas is more likely to come if he knows someone else than Dean. Also, it'd give Dean some half-alone-time with the guy, and if a friend of Cas came along, he'd be able to see the guy relax more than during the evening before. Good plan. He shoots off a message to Cas, extending the invitation to another friend - with a friendly reminder that bringing a third person, although equally welcome, might induce a lot of contact since the pub will be packed and then drags himself back to the bathroom to shower and go off to work.  
  
  
By the time it is eight in the morning, he feels a little weird. It's cool that Cas hasn't replied yet, who knows what type of day plan the dude has, but no one else has contacted him at all. Usually Benny sends him at least three pictures of this cats during Sunday, and he had expected at least some drunk messaging after he left the bar around three in the morning and had taken a cab home.  
After ten, he scratches his chin and wonders if he had messed up or somehow fouled Saturday night with the group but dismisses the idea entirely - Charlie would have ripped him a new one if he had. Perhaps Benny was too fatigued to do anything on Sunday. But now it's Monday, this is more than twenty-four hours. Cold needles prick his spine and before he even considers to take off the gloves, he's through the door.  
  
Discarding his gloves on the way up (the first and last time he went to Charlie's floor with bloodied gloves, half the floor freaked out), he jogs up to her floor and enters without knocking. He makes out the fiery flames of her upper head behind a monitor, and quickly walks towards her. Charlie squawks in a very undignified way as her chair is pulled back and is ready to hand out some pain. Upon seeing Dean's worried face, she almost finishes asking what is wrong but Dean interrupts: "ChaCha, have you heard from Benny?"

"Heard from? Benny was so shitfaced he sent me like eighteen or nineteen pictures of his cats and some worryingly cute texts that were for Andrea, I had to forward them to her when he wasn't capable of understanding that he was sending them to me. Really glad to know he doesn't send dick pics." Charlie snorts and starts to turn around but then looks back and directs the question back at Dean: "Why, haven't you?"

  
The confusion on Dean's face must show, but an understanding grin flashes across Charlie's face. "Oh Dean..." she whispers and holds out her hand, grinning as he hands over his phone by reflex, "have you.." a quick peek at the lit screen makes her smile even brighter, "tried...", a few swipes; down, left, tap, up; "turning it of off and on again? You had airplane mode enabled, you banana." and returns Dean's phone back to him.

  
Dean frowns at his phone - still no messages - but remembers that the reception in Charlies' bureau is crap.  
"Well, considering that Benny was off the charts, you sing-sang that you'll not be kept up by the, and _I quote_ ", she emphasises on the last words and proceeds with air-quoting " _pingpongpingping_ played for messages sent by him. I distinctly recall you almost mushed your phone in his face and drawled something like ' _y'shee thish, I turnn the sound off_ ' before you left me to fend for myself. Now bugger off, I need to continue the calculations, hush, go away, go away." and with that she pushes Dean towards the door. "Thank you, almighty raspberry" Dean is out of the door with a friendly kick to his butt and sees her flip him the bird through the small window embedded in the door, sticking her tongue out.  
  
  
"How glazed was I to mix those two up?" Dean suspects a very valid reason, especially in the shed light that Benny sent Charlie more pics than on a regular night out and by the time he has reached his working office, he's grinning. Twenty nine _pingpongingpings_. Good call on the situation about Benny's love for typing (surprisingly well) while juiced, but a bit sad he was himself so plastered. Scrolling through the messages, he sees two from Cas.  
One reads: "Thank you again for the invite, I listened to some live songs and Wixxers are good. Would it be alright if I bring someone with me?" and is displayed via Whatsapp.  
The second, by time stamp, is from from the regular messaging app and reads: "I admit my confusion, I received your message twice, at the same time? Anyway: Yes, I'd like to bring someone."  
  
Smiling, Dean quickly types back "hey cas, sorry msg mess. I had i tapped airplane mode and didn't notice until some minutes ago. it's cool about you bringing friends along. please tell me until friday if you'd like me picking you guys up or if someone needs a ride later' and pockets the device. His smile slips to a neutral expression while he slips on his working gloves and approaches the body on his table. Gently, he sweeps his palm over the raven black hair back along the scalp of what was once a lively twenty-something and steels himself for his next task.  
  
Every body has it's secrets. Now it's time this body in front of him spills all its secrets to Dean. For it is be cut, weighed and measured and put into numbers and five-dollar words that help him keep his distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for taking your time to read! yay ^^
> 
> comments are welcome and constructive critique is desired. am I taking too long to describe things? is it too slow in build?
> 
>  
> 
> The Surya Namaskar, or Sun Salutation, is a great way to start the day. It takes a few minutes only and these are just for you so, really, try it. You'll suddenly notice you got better at stretching, and it also serves as a lovely soft work out to begin a new day.  
> yogini (f) or yogi (m) are proficient in yoga, or simplified: a yoga teacher.


	10. A Parent's Love Knows No End And Cannot Be Measured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mom, I think I might like boys."
> 
> The first words his mother said to him after coming out were: "I am so sorry, Dean", and his world had fallen apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm off to kiss the sea, and hopefully will be back with some new chapters. for now, this and the previous are published in great hope (puppy eyes!) that someone will read this. take care guys and enjoy your summer. read from you soon in september!

After sewing the body shut, Dean strips off his gloves and pulls his phone out, asking Charlie about dinner and then sends another message.

> hey mom can I call you tonight? _[sent today, 2.15]_
> 
> sure honey, is everything okay? _[received today, 2.25]_

> yeah I just need to hear your voice. love you. _[sent today, 2.25]_

> Love you too, honey, and always will. _[received today, 2.27]_

Dead counts himself as one of the luckier people, in many instances. Whatever love he missed from persons around him that weren't family or extended family, the love and support he had received throughout his life by his family were a true gift. When he noticed for the first time that his body had reacted to another boy, he was scared. His father had given him the talk of the changes his body would go through, and they did so at school too, but never mentioned anything like this.

After the third time he noticed this, he sat down at the school library computer and searched for what was wrong with him. Then he understood, he wasn't wrong wired, he just liked boys. He spoke to Charlie then, and she hugged him and said that he is absolutely OK and no one who says otherwise will be tolerated. He kept going back to the library for a couple of weeks, reading through some forums and hoped for the best.

 

 

"Mom? I need to tell you something." Dean knows, by logic, he shouldn't be afraid. Mary's smile is soft, as usual, and after putting her book onto the table and scooting over on the couch, she pats the now empty spot, and her smile is in her eyes, too, "come here, honey. What's wrong?"

"I don't, uh, know really?" Dean is fidgeting on the spot, unable to keep eye contact which worries Mary. Teenagers are allowed to have some teenage angst, though she had hoped Dean would skip that part of teenage drama. But by how his entire body language screams panic and fear, Mary steels herself for he worst.

"Dean. Talk to me. You know that I listen to the end even if I get angry." Mary hopes that the fear she feels adds no edge to her voice, but Dean's head is hung.

"Have you gotten into trouble? Did you make a girl pregnant? Do you owe someone money?" A head shake, but his shoulder slump further down.

"Have they bullied you into dealing? Dean, did you do drugs?" His had snaps up, and there's anger in his eyes, but also tears. "No, how could you even think of that, Mom?!"

"I don't, but your behaviour in the last months was erratic at best and - don't give me that look, you cannot blame everything on hormones. These are things that scare me Dean. Everything else we can work out. Please, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong." By wrapping her hands around his tightly clenched fists, Mary hopes to make Dean talk. He takes a deep breath and looks at her, eyes wary and softly replies: "I don't know, mom. I might, uh, I - I.. Uh, never mind, yeah? It's cool." and attempts to stand up, but Mary won't have it, and pulls him back by the belt loops of his jeans.

"Oh no, you don't. Spill it."  
"Mom.."  
"Dean Winchester, I am your mother. If you are hurting, I am hurting and so is your father. Spill."

Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, Dean takes a deep breath and feels as if he was going to war. "Mom, I think I might... like..." Shaking his head in frustration, Dean tries to still his jumping leg. He _knows_ Mom won't mind. He _knows_ Dad won't mind. Still, he's so afraid, what if he is wrong, what if the almost non-existent chance of them not being okay with Deans _situation_ , what if she hits him, she's never done that but _WHAT IF_ , what if they kick him out and he can never see Sam again - the fear is, by logic, unfounded, Dean _knows_ that but he's read horror stories about coming out and the pain he felt while watching a video of a dude secretly filming his coming out and his family suddenly spewing hate across the room, hitting him even... and now all the hate that others had to endure could come from his mother. It's unlikely he would survive the loss of this parent's love. Charlie had given her pinky swear that he can stay at her place, if it all goes to hell.

"Dean, honey, please, you're scaring me." Mary's voice is soft, her hand is laid over his cheek to gently turn his head to her, but her eyes are filled with fear and Dean's voice breaks by the end of his sentence: "Mom, I think I might like boys."

Silence. Mary is stunned into complete silence, her mouth is open and she is staring at Dean. He had packed some of his most important things, some comic books and also a pack of Cheerios and a toothbrush to run to Charlie, if bad comes to worse, but this is scary.

"Uh, Mom?" Dean's small flame of hope to maybe not be disowned or beaten to death diminishes into nothing, so when Mary suddenly grabs him, and pulls him towards her, and sobs, he is too freaked out for several minutes but finally manages to ask her, "Why are you crying?"

And then, then she leans back and her warmth is gone and she's pressing her palm onto her forehead and takes a few breaths. Dean feels his panic rise again, he hadn't thought he could feel even more afraid.

 

The first words his mother said to him after coming out were: "I am so sorry, Dean", and his world had fallen apart. Nothing mattered any more. For solid three seconds, he felt nothing but pain, as if his entire being was subjugated to fire and ice, and the lump in his throat was swelling, suffocating him, and he felt tears rolling down his face.

 

Dean's worst fear had come true: his mother didn't love him any longer.

 

Dean smiles, remembering what followed. Because _then_ Mom had embraced him in bone-crushing hug, kissed his face, his hands, and had continued: "I am so sorry, Dean, if I or John ever gave you the impression you needed to hide who you are. I am so very sorry we failed at that, because you should know, we don't care who you love as long as they make you happy. You are my baby boy and will always be. I love everything about you, and whom you fall in love with won't change that. You cannot know that at your age, but I can promise you a a parent's love knows no end and cannot be measured. I would burn alive if it was the only way to keep you safe." And in the following minutes, Dean learnt that his mother had cried because she thought she had hurt her son, perhaps even for years. And Dean had cried too, and when Sammy and John had come home from Sam's FSME vaccination, they walked in to be greeted by two smiling blondes with red-rimmed eyes, blotchy noses and snotty tissues strewn across the floor, eating apple pie from the same plate. Sam had nestled in between them immediately, diving for the last bites of the pie, while John leaned over the couch and kissed Mary's crown, asking what happened. She had then nudged Deans foot with her own, shot an encouraging smile to him and Dean straightened his shoulders and replied "Dad, I think I might like boys."

John clapped Deans shoulder and his reply was short but Dean understood every unspoken word, "No reason to cry though, huh, son.". while Sam only said "Yeah, Dean, why would you cry because I like boys too! And girls and also dogs a-- why are you laughing?". Sam and Dean ended up bracketed between their parents, and he felt safe. Later, when he went to bed, he remembered these long three seconds and shuddered at the thought that for some, these seconds extend to hours, weeks, even years. He made a promise to himself then, to always give as much support as he could, and to step in if he ever saw someone attacking a person.

  
Knocking on his door frame, Mary entered to tuck him in. "So, Dean, I was wondering. What made you open up today?" and he could hear her smile when she continued, "Do you have a boyfriend? He can come over any time, you know", but he pressed his face into the pillow to hide his grin and shook his head. Fat chance. He had a crush, is all. Tucked in, kissed good night and loved, Dean Winchester, age thirteen, fell asleep with a smile playing along his lips to the never-changing words of his most important person.

"I love you too, honey, and always will."  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my parents have unending love for me and while I have had no need to come out, I distinctly recall a friend of mine was picking his cuticles bloody while working up the courage to tell me that he's gay. 
> 
> Although I am not prone to crying easily, I cried when I saw the recording of this one brave young man who came out to his family and recorded it secretly. I guess you have all seen it, since most of us are likely on tumblr. it hurt. I might not be able to understand the pain ever, but I sincerely wish that it would become unnecessary to come out at all - simply because it's just part of who this person is - as is their eye-colour or the shape of their toes - and just let people love whom they love (still within the legal spectre of age and consent of course).


	11. Charlie, Hold My Bonnet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean hates Ray Bans.

  
After sewing the body suit, Dean strips off his gloves and pulls his phone out and taps the shortcut to Charlie's chat:

>  what bout chow 2nite, u got ny ideas? _[sent today, 2.14]_
> 
> ideas* _[sent today, 2.14]_

And then opens up another chat

> Hey mom, can I call you tonight? _[sent today, 2.15]_  
>    
>  How about some lasagna á dean? I think we're out of pasta blades though  & you are getting outta here sooner than I am, so shopping for you :D Come up for your break, I need stupid company. Xoxo. _[received today, 2.17]_
> 
> pasta blades, seriously? also: shut up, I'm not stupid company, I'm adorable. _[sent today, 2.18]_

"Might've known", Dean smiled. It took less than twenty minutes - even after chatting briefly - for his screen to light up and show one of his favourite pictures of his mother, a black and white candid shot of her smiling into the camera while she had her arms wrapped around Dad from behind, leaning into him. He kissed her cheek, his smile was partly hidden by her hair. He picked up before the second ring was over, and immediately heard the voice that had been part of his life since he could remember.  
  
"Hello honey, what's wrong? Are you alright? Is Charlie, okay? Do you need food money?"  
"Hey mom, everything's cool, thanks," Dean knew he was blushing, and glad she couldn't see it. Seriously, food money? "How're you, has Dad finally finished painting the house?"  
"Oh, don't get me started on painting the house, we've had rain for days and your father is getting restless."  
Her tone was exasperated, but Dean could hear her smile. She was likely one of the happiest persons alive, he had seen her cry twice in his entire life, and John swore that these were the only times he had ever seen her cry at all, and they had been dating for a couple of years before Dean.  
"Tell him I said Hi, yeah? I can't come in this Friday, but if Saturday is cool, I still have some overtime left and could extend my stay to Monday, Tuesday maybe."  
"Oh yes, honey, absolutely! Stay as long as you like. What's up on Friday? You have a date and put your old parents on the back burner, hm?" she not-so-subtly-prodded.  
  
"No, not a date, a concert in the Pit, remember that place? Where Dad's chair broke and the girl called him fat?"  
"Ah, yes, we teased him for days, I remember well. Purgatory, right?"  
"Yeah, that one. But anyway. Mom, have you ever met someone and just... knew? That you needed to get to know this person. Irrelevant whether it's physical attraction, okay? Just... Do you know what I mean?" Dean is praying to the Rock Gods that she understood, because he couldn't describe it any better without sounding like a complete freak. His reaction to Castiel was skating along a badly written porn-without-plot Alpha/Omega-mating fic he had once (or twice, or several times) read on Tumblr and this was absolutely no material for conversation with his mother, no matter how open minded she was.  
  
"Well, yes, your father in fact. You might want to read up on pheromones again, honey, but I am getting a happy vibe here. Did you meet someone like that? Did you? Didya?" and Dean saw her in his mind, likely she had the phone pressed against her shoulder and was in jumping position because she tended to make little jumping dances when she was super-excited. By her voice, she was.  
  
"No, not like that. I just, don't know..." Dean exhaled and slouched in his chair, groaned and knocked his head onto his desk several times, "Just... ugh, I don't know, Mom. It clicked, and I don't think I was this drawn to anyone so quickly. Betcha it's just a fleeting moment, you know what they say, the bursting flames extinguish quickly or whatever."  
"How can you be this smart and still mess up the easiest proverbs, Dean? Now you've got me all confused and I can't remember how it should go. Anyway, back to your not-date Friday, you know my rules. Whatever makes you happy is good in my books. You still at work?"  
"Yes, I was just heading up to get a break."  
"Tough one?"  
"Aren't they always."  
  
A short but companionable silence followed, and Mary sighed. "Don't let it get too close, honey. Give Charlie a hug and give me a call later."  
They ended the call quickly by their usual chit-chat of love-you-mores and on his way up to Charlie, Dean had prolonged his weekend until Tuesday.  
He was looking forward to  see his parents, Sam would likely bring his Girlfriend (yes, capital G, they were serious) and Dean could eat his mom's pie. Best weekend ever.  
  
  
  
It turns out that Charlie has plans for the foreseeable future, plans including Sam and Hannah and a movie marathon, but Deans gut tells him that something isn't all too kosher about that specific movie night.  
  
First, they just had survived their very first "Favourite Actors Born In April" marathon and swore they'd wait at least for three days before planning another kamikaze action.  
Then, it wasn't usual for three out of four to make the decision unless it was a birthday present, and no one was even close to their birthday.  
Also, Charlie was evasive and if that wasn't scary on its own, it was the fact that neither Sam or Hannah would acknowledge it to be true.  
  
They had _plans_ , plans involving Dean, and he knew that they knew that he knew that they knew that he knew and made fun of it. Last time the Three Stooges attempted a similar feat, he hadn't spoken to them for almost a week, and that counts for something, after all he is likely the neediest of them all.

  
Charlie and him bickered during their break, and he went downstairs again to finish today. After changing and ruffling Charlie's hair, raising his hand in a dismissive wave to her 'don't forget the pasta blades!', Dean walks out of the building and takes a deep breath, mentally putting a closure to the active part of his work in a slight Bob Kelso-moment.)

He was a bit shaken still, for whichever reason the body on his table had reminded him of Castiel. He had darker hair, and his eyes weren't the same shade of blue, but in the harsh light every colour looks different.  
Nothing to freak you out better and piss off the day with than thinking your crush is lying in front of you, and not in the good way.

Shaking his head and muttering along the lines of 'keep it together', Dean finally has completed the necessary paperwork.  
Upon being asked whether he isn't always running late with paper work and if the depiction in all those suspense series wasn't so well done, he had sputtered a string of incoherent gibberish (if he would have had feathers, they'd be ruffled)  
"Yes, why, it is possible. not all everyone in his line of work has times to don some Ray Bans and make snarky comments about death."  
With luck, one of teh bitches wasn't around and could tell The Tale Of The First Love Fight.  
  
 Dean remembered how Charlie had to keep him from smashing the TV because the idiot character, supposedly a coroner, told the investigators he had found a metal card to a club downtown, in the vics fist, and had to cut off the hand to put it into the microwave. To relax the muscles. Metal. Microwave. Muscles. Microwave. METAL. Insert **boom** here.  
  
  
This day went down as The First Love Fight of Dean and Baby No.2, and glory was spoken to Benny who caught it on video. Yes, Dean had missed the first run of the ep because of a date and, good friends as they are, they knew they had to show this very epic spectacular failure of thinking to him. They expected some kind of hearty reaction, who wouldn't, even they caught the stupidity of the scene, but Deans reaction was worth mithril laced with cocaine.  
  
At first, there was nothing. Then, he rolled the ep back and rewatched the scene with eyes as big as saucers.  
  
And so it began.  
  
"Like, yeah, suuuure after rigor mortis sets in the muscles are contracted and of course it's full on logic to put the flipping hand in the microwave, on high too, because (and here, Deans voice broke a bit and Charlie full on screamed in delight watching the vid of Dean loosing it) the body's made of 80% water which of fucking course will _not evaporate_ and make the muscles contract ever further?! Why the fuck to they think so many wear gloves at the funeral?? We have to break the frigging fingers or wait until rm ends? _Are they serious?_ Do they need an explanation on basic biology, oh, and wait, chemistry and physics, too? You can't put damned metal into the microwave, what the ever loving... do they need an explanation that ovaries and testes are not the same too? What kind of disrespectful idiot would desecrate... I cannot even! Charlie, Charlie, hold my bonnet, I'll poison the damned fool with ricin, and everyone else who gave their okay and  thought they needed to do this to shock people... We are _so_ stopping watching this piece of shit! Castle for crime only, folks, that's it. We're done."  They managed to make him watch about seven minutes longer until the sun glass douchebag made another cool comment and Dean lost it, groaning into his favourite pillow.  
  
  
It was then an unspoken but official quest to find either a scene, a meme or anything similar and film Deans reaction. For weeks, Kevin was leading by two points. Then Mary, of all those whom Dean trusted, found the Earsperm Scene that had Dean lock himself in the bathroom stall and cry. His most beloved mother had taken up the challenge, and all hope was lost.  
  
 "Dean, Dean honey, listen to this one. He had sperm in is ear..." - (Dean was looking at her as if she had grown another head and the others turned to her expectedly) -  "Well, I guess," (and here, she very seriously donned some Ray Bans), I guess he heard his killer coming."  
  
Mary received five points for:  
1\. participation (suggested by Kevin),  
2\. the porny pun,  
3\. Benny's snort that made him spew his soda across Charlie,  
4\. making Dean loose speech for the entirety of 68 seconds (timed by Andrea),  
5\. making Dean finally gasp a shocked, "Mother!" in a very English Regency Movie Way and speed walk to the bathrooms.  
  
She is an unchallenged, but gentle, Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking with me :) I hope to pick up the speed now, is there anything that I could improve? feedback higly appreciated :)
> 
> References:  
> [ **Castle**](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1219024/) is a funny and well developed suspense series.  
>  also, I _think_ Dean was referring to the proverb "The flame that burns Twice as bright burns half as long" by Lao Tsu, but am unsure xD


	12. Favourite Letter? H, for Hell, With Capital H

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel contemplated blocking the number, but he couldn't. For once, he wanted to know how Mike would handle being ignored, and he felt sick for - sick for wanting to know how far the man could go, feeling sick for wanting to know; sick wanting to not care, but to know. A morbid curiosity, an itch he wanted to feel scratched, to see what he had refused to see for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha, so was that me last time prancing about hoping to update once a week? HAHA
> 
> so very sorry. BUT, being late and all, here are 2100+ words for you to be disappointed in :D

While it is is the universal truth that Mondays, in themselves, are not evil, they absolutely are the least liked day of the week - considering the fact that not only had Castiel the feeling of being watched, this specific weekday always had the tendency to last three days longer than any other day. Also, he mused, there ought to be another day between Sunday and Monday. Freeday, Beerday, Greenday, whatever.

Anna texted him several times, and while he was no big fan of checking his phone during lectures, he did and loved her textcapades. They had used texting as a private twitter ever since, describing a funny situation or a hilariously dressed person, or a yawning puppy with way to much _Aaawwwssss_ and _imagonnastealherandhugherrrrrrrs_. Granted, Anna likely would get into more trouble at work for texting than Castiel at Uni but he felt it was rude towards his professors. Today, he didn't care. He has his big sister back, with her typical typos and increasingly puppyanger leveled threats to drown her phone in the snot of the next child that sneezed, but he had her back. Not that he had ever lostlost her. She had made sure that he knew with absolute certainty that he has a sister that had made it her life's mission to kick anyone's butt who attempted to hurt her little brother, even at age five. Her typing had not gotten better though.

> you know we just avveoted youll be back _[received today, 7.15]_
> 
> accepted i swaear this phone _[received today, 7.15]_
> 
> swear! 4yos crawling over me, today i have every excuse for mistletoe _[received today, 7.16]_
> 
> mistalrt _[received today, 7.16]_
> 
> my stagger  _[received today, 7.16]_
> 
> FML I HATE AUTOCORRECT  _[received today, 7.16]_

This specific Monday passed rather quickly, and seemingly in a blur Castiel found himself perched on his couch, his most favourite person occupying the best spot on the couch, knees tucked in, bowl of chips between them. They talked. Anna knew that her brother wouldn't open up immediately, but it was better than the radio silence that had been normal for the last months, or rather years.

Now, she had her little brother back. All she had to do now is show patience (she was a patient person, but not a very _good_ patient person) and wait for him to open his little mouth and spill. Or she might just duct tape him to the wall and eat pancakes in front of him and _make_ him talk.

While he did not go into specifics about the break up per se, her gut told her that there was a little more to the story. She dragged him to an All You Can Eat-buffet on Tuesday and they walked back to her place, crashing on the couch in a Happy Food Coma. He combed her hair with his fingers, making and undoing braids, soft corn rows, ringlets, taking pleasure in the soft texture. She asked about Friday night in general, and googled the same videos that Castiel had watched, deeming The Wixxers good enough for a gig to go to. She, too, noticed the tube thingy on the drummer, and thought it might be a breast binding. They googled, found, went all 'oooh' and 'moving like that is awesome!' on the drummer. At least Anna thought it ought to hurt like hell to bind breasts and still beat the drums like they had offended the drummer.

 

Then, somehow, Anna learnt of Dean and the role he had played on Sunday

Castiel managed for all of a few hours to avoid to describe why exactly the other man had stepped in, but in instances like this, Anna turned into a human with pit bull jaws and balls the size of a blue whale, and she was relentless. Upon hearing that Michael had grabbed Cas' shirt and yanked him forward, clean cut _manhandled_ him, Castiel all but could keep her on his couch and not let her hunt down his ex, unleashing her fury in what would likely end in her knuckles reforming Mike's nose. For such a (usually) gentle soul Anna was viciously protective and ready to throw her small, but underestimated weight around. Even in kindergarten she had taken her role as Older Sister very serious.

In puberty, when Castiel was not quite struggling but still somehow troubled with what he had unknowingly learnt to expect and to feel based on sexual education in school versus what he felt himself, a few snide comments were all it took for the neighbourhood to understand that _you don't mess with the Ikarus boy_ unless you want The Red Widow to unleash Hell, with capital H. She never started a fight, but she damn well finished them. "While it is perfectly healthy for children to fight, and it is good to increase awareness of social norm and rules," their mother would say to angry parents who came to bitch about 'a girl fighting like a boy', "it is also absolutely normal and important that children learn boundaries that are connected to politeness and proper conduct." And then, their mother would pin the offended parent with a cool gaze, "And if parents refuse to raise and teach their child to not be rude, it is hardly a surprise their child will get reprimanded by others, though it is truly a shame the kid gets blamed for the failure of a parent, don't you think?"

> castiel, don't be childish and call me back or pick up the phone. this is ridiculous. _[received today, 2.44]_

So when Balthazar had crashed into Castiel, yelling that he both had and was amazeballs, Anna quickly was on her feet and was on edge, expecting the worst. Instead, she had bent over laughing, since Castiel had looked like a ‘drunk chicken flapping about’ while he yipped for help, but when a bully tried to bulldoze her way through the park… well, Anna's and Castiel's parents were always proud that Anna could and would stand her ground. The three, and with Gabe soon four, teens soon became inseparable. Cas had always been the softest of emotion and empathy, and more willing to share than to want. He'd rather take the smaller cut of his birthday cake because he knew Gabe would then get the big one.

So she did what was right and not what would feel good.  
She stayed with her brother, talked with him, smushed his face with pillows, toe-poked his butt when he went for another bag of chips, pushed him off the couch, yipped when he bit her ankle... She could skin Mike alive later. Or not, it might not be legal. She'd have too look up laws concerning skinning assholes.

> Castiel, call me back. _[received today, 8.09]_

Castiel contemplated blocking the number, but he couldn't. For once, he wanted to know how Mike would handle being ignored, and he felt sick for - sick for wanting to know how far the man could go, feeling sick for wanting to know; sick wanting to not care, but to _know_. A morbid curiosity, an itch he wanted to feel scratched, to see what he had refused to see for so long.

> You know when we started dating I really had thought this would work out fine. You were such a nice person, but how you managed to completely turn around and actually make me beg for this relationship only to stomp into my face and spit into everything I tried to do, that was hurtful, but me, love-sick idiot that I am, I was still happy to work with you and make this work and make us work but you just need to give pain to others, don't you. It's always like this, I try and people fuck me up but I had seriously hoped it would be better with you, and now even my friends don't want to speak to me so much, what did you do, did you talk to them did you spew even more hate? _[received today, 10.17]_
> 
>   
>  Castiel call me back _[received today, 10.32]_

Castiel muted Mikes' thread. He left the notifications for missed calls - bordering on 60 missed calls from the same number in three days - untouched, making screen shots and sending them to Dropbox regularly. He also sent the messages as screen shots to Dropbox, just in case.

> you stupid idiot call be back _[received today, 10.37]_
> 
> how can you be so cold hearted? all I want is to talk _[received today, 2.04]_

Then, finally, a message he was happy to receive blinked up at him.

> heya u still up for the gig 2mrw? about me picking you up, can I call u around 4ish today? _[received today, 2.10]_
> 
> yes, both Anna and I are looking forward to it. the lift is appreciated and four is perfect, thank you. _[sent today, 2.14]_

  
True to his word, Dean calls a few minutes after four and they fix the time for him him to pick up Anna and Cas around six the day after. Cas ignores the knocking sound informing him that someone else is calling.

> Oh so you CAN take calls but not when I call, I understand. Trust me, they will see soon enough. I won't waste my time with you any longer _[received today, 4.12]_

Three calls.

> come on castiel fucking call me back what are you afraid of _[received today, 4.56]_
> 
> You are evil and taint everyone around you like a plague. _[received today, 5.01]_

  
Cas did not know how he felt. Passed over, disappointed, bored; he did not even know why he wouldn't simply block the bastard. It certainly would help to not feel annoyed, but he wasn't even feeling annoyed. He suspected he somehow wanted to _know_ , but what exactly was unknown to him, but he wanted Mike to _slip_ , wanted to see what he had refused to see for so long, and still this sickening feeling of impertinent curiosity was boiling in his veins.

> "I'll make you and your stupid fucking cunt of a sister suffer for this" is this what you told my friends I supposedly said, is this what happened, is this it? because it is not true, you know that, you manipulating bastard. you hurt me and I'm the better person, and I'm going to let you go  _[received today, 5.24]_

Was this a hidden threat? It was in quoted text, so it wasn't really - was it? The messages were confusing, thrashing around like a million ping-pong balls that had been strapped into a mouse traps and then released and poured mayhem into his mind, bouncing between making him feel bad and worse for not blocking Mike, then again wishing he could, knowing he should, but what was the right thing to do?  
  
Another four calls into his lecture.

> castiel, I swear to all that is holy, call me back, we need to talk _[received today 5.36]_

He felt cold. Had it always been like that?

The professor is speaking, saying something, Cas wasn't listening, the professor wasn't talking _to him_ , but the grey-white nose in the back of his mind was screaming to _finally reply_ , to _somehow reply_ , to let go of the pent up frustration he felt scratching at his tummy and limbs and the heat that burned through his throat and wanted out, thrashing inside him like a ball of wild fire, burning through him, pouring out the disgust and rancour and memories of what Mike called kisses and touches and necking that brought up the taste of bile and suddenly he was standing and why were his materials all scattered about on the floor and his table toppled over and why where the others staring at him, why was it so hard to breathe and why was the room so hot and he felt so hot and so cold all over and why were the tiles on the floor so weird looking and - the _poison_ , he must _get it out_ , he must purge it, he needs to pull it outside of him now, rush to the bathrooms, push in two fingers, bend them so they don't scratch, he cannot bleed himself again, and _there_ goes the bile and hot tears and he doesn't hear it over his heaving and retching, but there is so much white noise now and someone is pulling at his collar and pulling him up and all Cas knows is that he doesn't want anyone to touch him _now,_ he is dirty and filthy and stinks of sweat and bile and gastric acid and he tries to push them away but he is too weak, always has been, always too weak, Mike was right, and he is pulled back and before his head likely cracks on the floor and his brain bleeds out and his eyes sting with the lights _screeching_ down from the ceiling and he sees a flash of red and then, finally, then there is nothing.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am I sorry? I think I am.  
> feedback highly appreciated.


	13. Some Remedies Are Worse Than The Disease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! A lot of word-vomit to accompany a shitty chapter and sequel to throwing up, but not in detail :D

_Cotton_.

"Hey there bud, you feeling better?"

_There's so much cotton in my mouth._

"...I think he's coming to. Hey, yeah, could you, uh..."

_Where am I._

"Yep, he's coming to. Uh, Tess, could you bring me a cup of... yeah, crushed ice's probs? Think they might've some in the mensa."

_Bathroom stall. I was in the bathroom stall. Why are there girls._

"Oh hey there, gorgeous, welcome back."

_She has such a gentle smile._

"Did you, uh, hit your head or... yeah, no no no, you don't close your eyes now, you focus on me, yeah? What's your name?"

_I was someone else and now I am Castiel again._

A rasping cough is all he manages, but soon another hand - female, too - comes into his vision holding a paper cup with crushed ice in her hand, and a small spoon. His neck feels weird, but comfy, and kind of tucked in...? Ah, his head and neck are propped on the lap of the woman who's by now squinting down on him. Why is she squinting? 

"C, do you need me or...?" - "Nah, it's fine, thanks for the ice, Tessa, off you go. Hey, uh, I know you might not feel too great now but, uh, don't throw up on me, please?"

_Why are there so many women in the men's bathroom?_

"My mom fed me crushed ice after I was sick, so you know, uh, you want some? Please don't throw up on me."

 

Closing his lips around the cool spoon and feeling the ice melt against his tongue, which, you know, feels  _gross_ and downright  _furry,_  Castiel starts pushing himself up. Oh shit, the smell of sick is pouring out of his pores; if he looks only half as shitty as he feels, this woman's a true angel for both helping him and not throwing up on him, too. Right. 

A quick check downwards and Castiel at least can mentally high-five himself for not getting vomit all over his clothing.

 

"Easy there," a delicate, but strong and steady hand guides him up and, great, now he's got the jitters. He has always hated it when he had to throw up - had to, really, not  _wanted_ \- and afterwards, when his body was weakened already, it had to start punishing him for some weird reason by getting goosebumps and starting to shake (sugar levels, he was told), and right about now it's way too cold, too; and his hands are shaking so much he probably couldn't get the key into the lock if he was outside of his home and he needs to get home to wash the sick away and soak in a bath and cuddle up in his favourite blanket. He needs to text Anna.

 

"I said easy. Here," the girl's by now squatting next to him and rummages through her bag, pulling out a can of some sugary drink and offering it while still jumbling through her bag, "It's not really cold any longer so it might be a bit gross but you've gotta spike your sug-- oh, hey, I  _knew_ I had some Dextroenergen left, here, this won't make you sick, uh, you don't have Diabetes, right? Or - where's your kit?"

"Castiel."

"Huh?"

"My name is Castiel."

"Uh. Yeah. Okay. I'm Charlie, nice to meetcha and stuff. So, Dextro? It's pure glucose, and see - the foil is unopened so it's not a drug or..."

Turning his head away from her face in an attempt to keep the olfactory assault as minimal as possible, Castiel swallows the vile taste down as best as he can.

"Thank you. I feel better already, and you probably shouldn't be in here any longer, too. I will be fine in a few minutes, but I'd like to thank you, could you wait for me outside, please?"

"What?"

"You know. Bathrooms and close minded people don't mix well. I think the only ones unisex are in on the fourth floor."

"Do you hear any of us screaming pervert? I'm cool with you being here"

"What?"

" _Dude_. You're in the girls' loo. Trust me, the only reason we haven't pulled you out by your balls is because you were obviously so frikken sick. So," looking quickly down at her watch, "let's get you out of here and into the fresh air, huh? I have an hour left, so you have two options, either you call someone to pick you up and I wait with you - shut up, no objections - or I drive you home. What's it gonna be?"

Great. Not only did he throw up at uni, however lucky it appears to be that he did not miss the target and the floor looks as clean as it can be, which,  _yuck_ , reminds him that he's still  _lying on the bathroom floor, which is all kinds of gross_ , but he ran into the wrong bathroom, too. Groaning, Castiel pushes himself up and on (only slightly, he tells himself) wobbly legs walks over to the lavatory to clean himself as well as he can.

Well, shit.

Red rimmed eyes, and is that - yep, a capillary has broken, too. Great. Absolutely great, he looks like a real-life zombie now.  Gurgling with water doesn't make the bitter taste go away, and the Doctorsin-stuff was disgustingly sweet. It did help, he's not jittery any more, but mixing it with the taste of bile was  _really_  gross and as soon as he has gurgled as far down as he feels is possible without retching again, Castiel clams his mouth shut, hoping that the girl -  _Charlie_? - will understand that he cannot talk.

 

When he turns around, a soft smile is curling around her lips, a package of chewing gums in her out-stretched hand waiting for him. He takes two, then re-evaluates and takes another one and quickly opens the foils and starts chewing as if the gums have offended him. He grumbles a 'Thank you' while hiding his mouth behind his left hand, hoping to not stink up the room even more. Everything smells like sickness. He might have some sick in his nose, for crying out loud. Life sometimes really isn't fair.

Castiel has had a few so-called Walks Of Shame since his late teens - though he absolutely does not understand why having a good time should be met with shame, so he always held his head up high when he walked home in the early morning; messy clothes, messy hair, slight hang-over or smelling like sex or even the stupid hickeys he hated be damned, but today, walking out of the bathrooms and feeling (and looking) like shit, he feels a severe blush creep up his neck.

Wait. No one's murmuring. He looks up, and, yeah, there is the other girl leaning against the wall, eyeing him up and, after a shoo-motion of the red-head, nods and briskly walks away to her next lecture, most likely. Charlie is closer than what is proper for first time meetings, but then again, Castiel has had his head in her lap, so what's a hand on his shoulder? 

Also, thank Zeppelin for making no-one  even sparing him a glance.

 

* * *

 

It was luck that Tessa wasn't standing anywhere in the radius of the door when Castiel had pushed, nope, angry-Viking-style _kicked_ the door open so hard it had bounced off the wall and beelined for the first stall. Charlie couldn't have blocked the door well or on time, and Tessa wasn't even training; and by the time it took her body to initiate the knee-jerk reaction of throwing her hands up to protect her face, she would have been caught right in the movement and her wrist joints might have been broken. "Or not," Charlie chides herself, "stop thinking scary stuff."

 

Also.. holy frikken banana split sundae, Batman, what are the odds that this is the same guy Dean was gushing about? He's got the 'summer sky screwed by the ocean' eyes going on alright. Sure, he looks like shit but the dude pretty much projectile-vomited his entrails into the toilet and almost drowned himself in it to top it off. 

A look to her left shows her that the dude, Castiel, is chewing as viscously as is possible with so much gum in his mouth. And he's down-right blushing. Well, still better than the pasty greenish-white skin he had a few minutes ago. He even stopped shivering, though the glucose won't hold up for too long. Right. He needs to get home.

"Castiel, I take it you want me to drive you home since you aren't calling anyone?"

Mumbling.

"What? Open your - Castiel, so what if you were... alright, you know what, you pull up the contact you want to call and I'll to the talking, yeah? Come on. Either that or we go to the parking lot right now. Someone's called you several times, too."

Checking the time, Castiel winces. Anna won't be able to pick him up. Bal is likely  _still_ asleep and insufferable after waking up (worse than Castiel, according to Anna)  and Gabe will freak out completely into mother-hen mode and  _smother_ him. Crowley's out of town, something about his tailor being eaten by hell-hounds. Castiel stopped asking questions a long time ago and accepted the weird sense of humour.

 

Also there indeed are notifications for missed calls and messages. One of them is from Anna. All others are from his ex.

_Make it stop, please._

She's frowning as the phone starts vibrating again. 

"Do you need to get that?" - "I - no, no, I don't." Tapping the red button to end the call, Castiel starts pocketing his phone when the vibration sets off again. Until now, ignoring Mike was bad enough but now he downright rejected his call, he has shown a reaction and he must've shown it on the outside too, because the girl is eyeing the phone and him and then the phone again.

 

"Want me to handle this?" At his blank look, she makes a reverse nod, tilting her chin in an upward notion to point-by-not-pointing at his phone. "I don't want to creep you out, but I think I know who is calling you and how to handle this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, sorry? does this shit even make sense  
> I should stop D: but I want to continue! yikes!  
> ALSO WOW 20.000 words of crap?!


	14. Recoil, Ignite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is holding her gaze and nods slowly, indicating for Charlie to continue her most eloquent babbling.
> 
> _note: yes, the hover text is absolutely necessary._

"Want me to handle this?" At his blank look, she makes a reverse nod, tilting her chin in an upward notion to point-by-not-pointing at his phone. "I don't want to creep you out, but I think I know who is calling you and how to handle this."

"Excuse me?"

"Uh, I didn't mean, know-know but it appears to me that you don't want to speak to them, but if you like I can, you know, explain that you're not available now and, uh, I swear I'm not a creep?"

"No, thank you. I'll... I'll handle this. Now." Again, Castiel taps the red button and with a few swipes and blocks the number. 

_Breathe in. Breathe out. It's okay._

He needs to work this out, and fast. 

First, go to the police, maybe ask their advice how to handle this? Second, maybe really go talk to a therapist. Castiel sometimes feels as if he is someone else. It's weird to be a different person when you're not. Also, what in the ever loving world was that thought, ' _I was someone else and now I am Castiel again_ '? Is he going mad? Third, call back Anna. And then, talk to her, for real. Explain what has happened. Maybe over the phone so she won't kill him. 

The girl - Charlie - is standing next to him, patiently, not tapping her foot or anything, but she's obviously waiting.

"I know how this probably looks, but I swear I'll be okay now. The last few days have been stressful, that's all."

"Alright. Let's just sit for a few minutes, okay? Come, there's a bench right over there, yeah? I really don't feel OK leaving you now, please? Come on."

 

What an extremely weird day. Charlie came here to speak to not-so-much-long-ago-snot-nosed late teens about career choices and why  _not_ to go into her line of work. 'Crime Scene Technician' sure as hell sounds fancy cool when you consider how they are represented, all polished leather shoes or high heels and designer clothes of all things on crime scenes. Yeah. Not so much. The hours are okay, mostly, but if you don't like your knees busting, grabbing hairs from toilet seats, taking high-res pictures of bruises, blood splatter patterns, calculating the time and force necessary to sever the hip from a wriggling body and other shit... and then: body fluids. In places you've never even consider to check. Everyone has this one special place of hell. For Charlie, it was the day she found sperm residue inside the lid of the coffee machine. After being offered, and having accepted, said coffee when the friendly neighbour had brought it over during her shift. And then the dude got on their list of suspects, because of a slip-up.

Violation doesn't even cover it. Even though, by super conclusive calculations and even the dude's confession (weeks later), it was impossible to have had happened, the thought alone was repugnant.

 _Anyway_ , here she is, unspermed throughout her life, and might just be able to help someone to come out, uh, clean. If she could just open her mouth. How do you start this? Certainly it's not okay to start with ' _Hey, so I was recalling a case with too much sperm and speaking of dicks, I think I heard about your ex?_ _Also, my thinking process is absolutely fine, I swear._ '

  
After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Charlie can't - won't - keep quiet. "You know, uh, I swear I don't want to dig into your life, cuz, you know, I do that by profession so it might come out like that, and shut me up immediately if I cross a border, yeah?" Castiel is holding her gaze and nods slowly, indicating for Charlie to continue her most eloquent babbling.

"Yeah, sooo, your entire body language is screaming panic mode and you smell like fear - nuh-uh, don't, it's okay, I don't mind. And judging by your behaviour, one of the reasons ought to be the person behind the number that you blocked?" Great, now he's frowning, but at least he's not getting up and walking away.

"Right. If someone's giving you grief, like, stalking or terrorising you and stuff like that, you know you can go to the police and give us a notice, yeah? We keep back-ups of that and if you ever press charges, it's considered as basis for proof. Then the word  _allegedly_ can't be used so easy by the other party, you get my drift? Don't be ashamed to ask for help. I'm not so much working directly with that, yeah, but it's always good to ask for help." Yep, that was him wincing. Good girl, now don't mess it up.

"No one's got the right to make you feel like shit, yeah? Doesn't matter if it's been going on for a while. I know how often people say that they'd never allow someone to treat them like that or that they'd fight back but, and trust me, they wouldn't. They couldn't. And it ain't weakness not to fight back, someone who hasn't been through shit like this doesn't, can't, understand that. But if you need to get out," and now she's pinning him with the same look she pinned Dean all those years ago, "then you can either hope for someone to notice and step in and let them help you help yourself."

Charlie hopes for the best when she continues.

"Now, I'm smart but I can't read minds, so let me come clean, and uh, please listen to me to the end? I think we have a common acquaintance since Sunday? I'm referring to Dean." A very slow nod and super-frown, damn, Dean was right, his frown  _is_  a superpower. Going by his body language, Castiel is getting ready to flee so she's rushing to make things clear.

"He came home on Sunday and may have talked a bit about, uh, what he witnessed. Really not much, I swear. What I said before, about someone giving you grief, I didn't pull it outta my nose but I admit I put two and two together. If your ex is messing with you, please consider to file a formal complaint. He's not allowed to touch you against your will, let alone with force or aggression and possibility of bodily or mental harm. It might never be necessary, but once we have it, it  _stays_. If he's terrorising you, let us have the call logs or messages or anything. I have really sweet colleagues who'll help you get through this by talking. I'm no pro on that part. Don't get me wrong, I'll listen too if you like but I'm on the other end of the spectrum. I get to work when people end up hurt. I don't want anyone to get hurt if I can help it. And you  _can_  get help, okay? It's not weakness to admit that you might not do so well on your own. Whether you got sick today simply because it's a shit day or if your ex is messing with you all the time and making your day shitty doesn't matter. What matters is that you step out of that zone. No one in their right mind will shame you for that and those who do, tell them to bugger off, they're just as poisonous. Okay? No shame, yeah? Okay. I think that's all the crap I'm able to say before I manage to put both feet into my mouth."

 

  
Castiel is listening to her but he's always been good at multi-tasking and having several processes of thought at once.

She knows Dean. Michael never heard his name, so she couldn't be sent by him. Right? So she's likely genuine. Castiel has suspected, expected rather, that Dean might have told someone what happened on Sunday. According to Charlie, it wasn't too detailed but how the hell is it otherwise possible for her pin-point so much and be so specific? 

Keep calm. Logic. 

She says  _we_  as in  _we in the police force_. If she's with the police, too, she'll have met the fair share of similar situations. He recalls Dean was fuming by the end of his short review of this relationship with and to Michael. Maybe it's talk from her working experience and, God help him, a  _regular_ occurrence in relationships gone wrong on such an epic proportion.

Maybe he isn't going mad. 

Maybe all this, the confusing thoughts, the feeling of being watched, triple-checking and again re-checking his locks,  _twice_ ; never airing his flat unless he's standing right in front of the window so no one can sneak in; all this... crazy paranoia-stuff is actually as healthy a reaction as possible. When he first broke it off with Michael, he read up on what the thought was at least half-pro on manipulation and abuse, or rather, Anna had sat him down and read the reports to him because he didn't think it possible. Things made sense, then, somehow.

Now, he feels trapped, again. And utterly stupid. Not only for letting it happen again, but for so many reasons he probably couldn't put half of into words. His mind is a whirlwind of emotions, negative ones only - fear, shame, disgust at himself and Michael and at his stupidity, mostly - and he feels like he's been doused in cold water. Like the Arctic Sea is running through his veins. The pressure behind his temples and sternum is increasing, pumping coldness in burst matching the rhythm of his by now, again, frantically beating heart, and the stone in his stomach is back. He's got a lump in his throat and his eyes have this specific sting he has always hated, right before - please, no, is he going to cry? Not in front of Dean's girlfriend, please no, that's the lowest of low. 

Swallowing around the lump, Castiel searches his quiet place, imagining the soothing voice of his sister. ' _Keep it together. One foot after the other, baby brother_ ,' is what she'll likely say before she beats him half dead for allowing the pile of crap become so big.

This cannot go on. He had told Michael to keep away, and he had ignored it just like the first time. And now he has witnesses. Several, unrelated, witnesses.

It, no,  _Michael_ , needs to stop. Now, completely and without delay.

 

"...crap I'm able to say before I manage to put both feet into my mouth."

"Is your offer to drive me still standing? But I don't want to go home." Quickly, Charlie's questioning expression morphs into a soft smile that reaches her eyes as Castiel continues: "I need help. Could you please drive me to the next police station?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, serious work-overload is my only excuse. I'm honestly dead on my feet, so I hope this chapter makes sense, somehow.
> 
> Today's Chapter title is stealthily stolen from MONO: [Recoil, Ignite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YEbRNqnwqmY) since the songs' dynamic fits to the dynamic of the chapter. Or not, I just like the song :D


	15. Lisa: Panmunjeom and Pudding Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's unlikely they'd killed and eaten someone, Cas wouldn't touch anything meaty with a ten metre long stick and unless Dean had changed his eating habits, cannibalism could be ruled out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I wasn't drunk when I wrote this

Cas is a great neighbour, the kind you don't mind giving your extra key to and feel cool with even when you're out of coffee, since they'd let themselves in to take the last bit - but they're on their way to the store now and call you to ask if you need anything else. That kind of great neighbour. Bless university schedules, he had saved her a couple times with last minute shopping assistance in the last two years.

A tentative neighbourly meet-and-wave-hello at first, they had become fast friends soon after he and Anna had helped Lisa with a huge haul of shopping bags and the ladies hit off like fireworks. So when Castiel had called and asked her if she could pick him up from a _police station_ of all things, she practically beamed herself to the precinct out of fear he had been hurt. Castiel looked at her like he suspected she might have broken a few traffic rules (she wouldn't tell) with how fast she came to pick him up, but was glad for it anyway. He was obviously  _especially_ glad for Lisa being with him when Anna all but propelled herself through the door after apparently time-lording through time and space, or perhaps she had really skipped the last thirty minutes of work somehow. Whatever it was, he had not to face Judgement Day alone. For now.

“Well, one thing led to another and I decided to attend to a matter I had avoided for too long, and - Anna please, don't look at me like that I swear it's not what you think it is.”

Shifting around, Castiel had _somehow_ managed it so that Lisa was sitting between Anna and him, basically manifesting her into the same situation that Panmunjeom had suffered, or Berlin. And she was making a damned good Berlin Wall, completely still, silent, doing her best to not aggravate the predator into attack and the prey into flight. No thank you, she was immaculately sitting still, silent as a mouse, and slowly sipping away the tea Cas had made two minutes before Anna materialised, hoping somehow to make a silent exit without betraying Castiel. She absolutely did not want to stay for what would likely become a fight. Lisa could feel the silent conversation that passed around and _through_ her getting heated; Christ, the Ikarus family knew how to make frowns worse than yelling. She started sipping her tea faster.

Lisa had been suspicious, at first a little but pretty much all the time soon after that sleazy bastard had appeared in Cas' life again. He had been way too smooth, and at the same time too hard edged, and dealt out whiplash all over the place. The few times she had spent some time with the couple, even on double dates, Michael had been downright weird.

And then, so very often when Castiel had looked forward to meeting with Michael's friends, something came up or Cas had come over after all, even if the evening was planned for him and Michael. And almost every time when Lisa opened the door, she saw the same look, a look that clearly said "I seemed to have forgotten, again, that Michael had other plans for today."

At first she thought Cas might be an airhead, or irresponsible or simply not caring enough to take note of his engagements. Which was so out of character. So she kept the plans the men had made in the back of her head and asked for updates. After the seventh or eighth 'How can you not care, Castiel!' from Michael she started to actually jot down what Castiel told her. The pattern was almost obvious once the human factors were removed.

" _His friends will come over to his place Friday next week and we'll grill_." got changed on Monday or Tuesday to " _Michael said he needs to get up early on Saturday but he'd like us to meet anyway, and go to bed at around ten, so if you're still up for it we could check out that Jazz bar around half past ten?_ " got changed on Friday 9.35 PM to " _Apparently I mixed up the weeks somehow, Michaels friends just came over when I was on my way out. Would it be OK for me to postpone a bit so at least I don't take off as soon as they arrive? I am really sorry for this. I guess our calendars did not synchronise or something, I need to figure this out._ "

It seemed so - so _fantastic_ , downright stupid, copied out of a very bad movie or book or some stuff, but it happened so often that Lisa decided something, obviously, wasn't right and it could not be Cas' fault. But how do you pin-point something that just keeps slipping through your fingers? It had so much resembled the situation where one whiff of odour that passes you by is so familiar but you can't put your finger on it. Just, this odour was rather the smell of something foul. But what can you do? It's not like Cas was 14 years old and she his mom.

 

Well, now here she is, sitting between two friends and she's feeling like crap because she hadn't noticed her friend has had problems, not couple-trouble, but _problems that likely involved the police_. Whatever it had been, she won't find out until Anna has had her turn with Castiel.

A not so very subtle, guilt infusing excuse later (watering the plants), Lisa abandons Cas. His wide-eyed look almost made her stop and sit down again, but Anna wouldn't really hurt him.

While Anna is starting a drilling on Cas the KGB would be scared of, Lisa's mind keeps spinning back to Sunday.   
Cas' face when he opened the door was a hard-set jaw, cold eyes, squared shoulders as if he was readying himself for a fight - but he wasn't a an aggressive fighter. She's seen him beat others verbally at poetry slams and even aggravated sometimes, but he has never been the one to _start_ a fight. And while, yes, she had been a bit stupefied to see Dean of all people, it hadn't looked as if they'd been fighting. Rather than that, Dean had taken _cover_ behind the door. It's more likely they had expected someone else. Mafia style? Nothing better to coax out information by working from the inside.

Checking the time, she decides she likely has about an hour or so until Anna is done chewing her brother out. Just enough time for her to whip up pudding and cool it to a degree. Either Cas and Anna will come over for one beer or she'll go over and bring the pudding as a peace offering. Whilst gathering the ingredients and cooking utensils, she continues her train of thought.

So. Castiel, ready to smite anything moving in front of the door, Dean, hiding for whichever reasons behind the door, and some boxes (of all boxes, why _florist_ boxes?). And today her picking up Cas at the precinct. It's unlikely they'd killed and eaten someone, Cas wouldn't touch anything meaty with a ten metre long stick and unless Dean had changed his eating habits, cannibalism could be ruled out.

Speaking of Dean, how _was_ he connected to all of this? She still liked Dean, a lot, friend-wise, but what are the odds of them meeting at Cas' door? Dean was very likely still the Labrador puppy type that was more into cuddling than sex and, even though she did appreciate this - cute - part of him, it had been too needy for her. She had tried to understand why. She was both genuinely fond of Dean and his behaviour towards her or people in general, but with Dean the want and need for attachment was too much. Or, perhaps, rather just not right.

Lisa had then accepted that _it simply didn't work_. She had known that they had spent more time together than he has had the chance in a long while with others before her, but it didn't feel right. And it would have been cruel to let it go on longer, and still not want it, and really hurt him when he had gotten even more attached.

It's always rather been easy for Lisa. When she hit it off with someone, she knew almost right from the start. And when the newness of Dean had worn off, the _It_ she really had wanted with him wasn't there.

She had tried to explain, they had talked and that was it, pretty much.   
Dean had, understandably, closed off for a few months and she had let him. After about seven months of complete radio silence she had written him a short text wishing him a ' _Happy Birthday, Dean_ ' and they had started to meet infrequently. Ben had walked on air when he met Dean. This was one of the things Lisa regretted most. Dean hadn't run when she told him that she had a toddler at home. It was beautiful when they went out, Ben was practically nesting himself underneath Deans skin and Dean loved every moment of it. She would have loved to keep him in her life, but it wouldn't have been fair to either of them. It was lucky kids didn't always remember things from a year past. It'd hurt Dean, but not Ben, that Dean went away and to a mother this is a small blessing. Ben adopted Dean the second time around again anyway, and 'Uncle Dee' was guaranteed to receive a drawing every time they met. Dean had shown them his kitchen on his phone, every single one of the pictures was either pinned to the cabinet doors, the fridge and the _supremely_ well drawn ones were framed and hung on the walls. Lisa smiled the entire time she was whipping, stirring, cooking, remembering and thinking. Whatever role Dean had played on Sunday, he was a good man. Maybe Cas will spill the beans, maybe not, but if he should ask about Dean, Lisa already had prepared a speech of all the good stuff to dish out to Cas why to stick to Dean.

Two hours and no screaming later, Lisa knocked on Cas' door to ask either him or both Anna and him over for pudding. Anna, puffy-eyed, left after gratefully accepting a small container, mumbling about stupidity of manly pride and testosterone controlled idiocy. Soon after, Castiel was sitting in her kitchen, chin propped up on his left knee and slurped the (slightly spiked) hot cocoa she had handed him while they waited for the pudding to cool completely. His eyes were a bit puffy, too.

They didn't talk much after he told her that Mike was out of the picture, now for good, and that he was happy but still hurting - but not because Mike was gone. They had clinked their mugs to Cas' health and she had hinted he could talk if he wished to do so. He had smiled, shook his head and added more Rum to his cocoa. When Lisa left the kitchen to tuck Ben in, Castiel was so lost in thought that he noticed only after a few minutes what he was staring at - a picture Ben had drawn, an assortment of happiness in all colours available. Rainbow coloured stick figures in a stick figure house, with a garden, stick figure animals (cats, a chicken...T-Rex? and a... mauve-green giraffe-horse-seal?).

And with a preschoolers' calligraphy a tiny had scrawled into the front area of the house: benn ❤ mama + deen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, what do you think? Am I stretching the story too far?


	16. The Pit: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's throat escapes a very manly tee-hee-hee as he wipes away the tears.

"And then," Benny continues with half-grunts, half-snorts in-between ragged breaths, "and then he-" -snort- "and then he kinda tried to turn around but he was still clutching at the frikken fence so instead of walking away he did a three-sixty-", by now, Charlie's squealing giggle is loud enough to hear well across the room, "and face smushed himself right back into it and --- he frikken fell asleep, still clutching at the damned fence!" 

Benny roars the last words, right hand hand slapping his thigh while his left hand waves up and down on it's own as if to shoo away the merry. Perhaps he has had the intention to grasp someone's shoulder and had missed, perhaps he had lost control of his body, but he's red-faced, and while his narration of his college buddy's drinking failure is funny enough when being told, actually _recalling_ the look of the face adorned with the criss-cross pattern of the mesh-wire it had been pressed into is just too much. Still, Benny manages to tell the story well and intelligible enough for his friends to imagine all too-proper Victor completely shit faced.

By now, Dean has tears streaming across his cheeks, which are hurting from the strain he has had put them through. His stomach's muscles are burning and it is hard to breathe. His body had bent forward on it's own account, muscles contracting, the tendons of his neck strained and he is gasping for air.

But _no_ , Benny, the bearded bastard, of course won't stop.

The others are swaying back and forth, still laughing - except Hanna, whose elbows are planted on the table and she is hiding her face behind her hands, clucking like a chicken. The clucking was actually what had done Charlie in, all those years ago. 

"Ahh, good ol' days," Benny ends his account of college escapades with a hearty draught of his beer and Dean's throat escapes a very manly _tee-hee-hee_ as he wipes away the tears. Which initiates the others to start chortling again. The bunch of friends falls victim to fits of laughter every now and then, and feedback-loop each other into another fit most of the time. By the end they don't even know _why_ they are laughing, they only know their bodies hurt in a good way. Once, Andrea was laughing so hard she farted. Well, the sound of that one was - according to Benny - "as cute as they get", but Andrea's mortified face was enough for Dean to calm down for a few minutes to explain to her that, yes, it's normal due to the contractions caused by laughing so much, and yes, it's actually healthy, and yes - he could not keep his face straight any longer - she does fart in a cute way, as far as farts go. The slap against the back of his head, courtesy of Charlie, had been  _totally_  worth it.

 

Soon, they settle back into relaxed talk over nursing their beers, watching new faces enter the pub, some with a fag already lit before they entered, adding to the atmosphere of close-to-home. In general the titter-tatter and increasing volume of background murmur heightens the anticipation for a lively night out.

Dean checks his phone. Only for the third time, so it's not too obvious he hopes.

> Hello Dean. About tonight. Anna and I are going to come by ourselves a little later, something came up, but we are definitively attending. I hope we will be able to get to the pIt before 7.  _[received today, 3.17]_

> Pit*  _[received today, 3.17]_

> heya cas, its cool, see u later. i promise i#ll try my best to keep two seats for you. call if you need anything k?  _[sent 4.01]_

> also, look for a bearded bear and youll find me  _[sent 4.02]_

By now it was half past six, almost quarter to seven, and still nothing. Oh well. Cas did write they would definitively come, so when they do, they do, and that'll be it.

He did not manage to keep two seats free. It'd be impossible and really considered savage to keep two empty seats when half of the pub is standing already. They'll manage. Andrea will likely end up sitting in Benny's lap anyway and he could switch to leaning against the wall. Hanna can't share, she's still sore from some fall (something related to a junkie in the ER) and needs her own chair. Or maybe Cas would - no, stop right there cave-men brain, stop right there. Enough. They'll get Cas and Anna situated just fine, thank you very much.

 

There hadn't been a response to his last message. Dean had been somewhat disappointed that he could not pick up the two. He had looked forward - hoped - to spend some time half-alone with Cas before they would have to be yelling at each other to communicate and, boy, did he hope they would, because the entire Sunday evening was just weird, with Lis and Cas and everything.

He wanted to know if Cas was feeling better, if he was doing okay with the break up and - damn, he really is worried, for whichever reason. The dude's been swaying from completely cool and composed to jittery and freaked out. Not asylum crazy, but still, well, weird. Likely stressed out, mentally and emotionally and - and, yeah, stuff like that can make people weird, both psychologically and physically too. Not that Dean has to much of knowledge, he keeps to the regular The Talk when necessary among the living but all those women and men he, uh, gets acquainted with in his line of work, well, they are the end-product of what he can kind of suspect Cas has been going through. Kind of. He can't ask, obviously. If, and that _If_ is super sized, if Cas and him should somehow continue meeting, and if - _this_ If is XXL-sized - Cas should ever open up about the stuff, yeah, he'll take it from there. As a supportive friend at least. Yeah. That'll be fun. 

Within the last days Dean has managed to somewhat calm down the inner whirlwind meeting Cas has induced in this chest and mind. By now he is almost certain his carnal reaction was a result of the adrenaline rush he felt after pushing back the aggressor. Charlie is a living weapon, and could likely use a ball of yarn to decapitate someone. And throughout their years spent together she has made him  _learn_. He doesn't enjoy it, but after continuously being her sparring partner ("I need a large dude, dude, how am I supposed to learn to wrestle a huge ass down otherwise, huh?") for years, he has learnt enough to stand his ground. Still, sparring is entirely different than a close call to a fight. When sparring, you stop when necessary. During a fight? Not so much.

Anyway. It's obvious that Cas is a handsome bastard, and Dean hadn't had  _fun_ in quite some time - again - so his libido likely only jumped at the first chance after swinging it's club cave-man style to bring the spoils of a battle to it's cave-man style den. Or something along the way.

 

"Yo, Dean-o!" It takes a liberally measured kick to his shin to bring his attention back to reality and Charlie nudges her head somewhere to the left behind Dean. Turning around, he is met with the breathtakingly presence of Cas and one of the likely loveliest persons he's laid eyes upon.

"Hello, Dean. This is my sister Anna." Cas' voice is almost swallowed by the background murmur and music. Twisting away from the table, Dean gracelessly half-falls, half-wriggles himself out from his seat and manages to properly shake Anna's hand, before hollering the names of the others at the table, missing the quick exchange between Charlie, Benny and Cas while he introduces Hannah and Andrea to the newscomers.

Thankfully, the barkeep turns down the music a notch and the droning sound from the other tables drops slightly, too. 

"Yeah, they'll start soon so, uh, how about you get situated and I'll get your drinks, I was about to go over anyway?" Dean asks, acknowledging Benny's raised empty glass with a nod. 

"That'd be great, thanks... I'll have a, uh Snakebite if they have it. Or a regular cider. Cas?" Anna replies with a sun-shine smile, gratefully accepting Dean's seat and (Dean ruefully notes) smoothly slithering into the vacant spot.

"I'll have a, uh, multivit juice if they have it?" - "Cas, you're in the Pit for fu-"

"Uh... okay? And if they don't?"

"Then mineral water, please. I don't want to drink tonight." Castiel pointedly looks at Anna, who sighs and dips her head.

"Sure thing, coming right up" Dean smiles, turns around and begins working his way through the packed pub.

 

After a few minutes of chitter-chatter, Charlie leans towards Castiel, as does Benny who mimics her after a nanosecond of hesitation, eyes darting to Anna, who, thankfully, is engaged talking to the woman Cas thinks is Hannah.

"So, Cas, how are you? Feeling better than yesterday?" Charlie's smile has the same warm effect it had the day before, and Cas relaxes in mini-units.  
  
"Yes, thank you. You both, really. I am aware it's terribly rude but would it be possible for you to, ah..." Castiel voice trails off, unsure how to ask what he needs to ask.  
"For us to keep our mouths shut?" Charlie supplies with a soft smile. "Sure thing, cupcake. And it's not rude, you know. Benny is bound to professional discretion, and me, well, all I did was drive you, really. And little me, well, I've got nothing to tell."  
"Yeah, that was work and this is private and I keep these two worlds apart, so," Benny drawls with a thicker accent than Cas recalls from their  _talk_ yesterday, "we might've met yesterday, brother, but we're getting to know each other tonight." Benny's gaze shifts to something behind Cas and he straightens his back, grinning. Cas turns around and, lo, behold the sight: Dean is precariously balancing four tankards on one of the probably smallest trays ever made high above his head while his left hand tries to gently push aside the mass of bodies, his internal monologue of despair and anguish of letting the tray slip apparent on a frowning face.

To Cas, Dean looks adorable.

 

The male in question manages to arrive at the table with both himself and the drinks intact, and only a little bit had slushed over the rim of the glasses. As Dean puts down Anna's Snakebite he's keeping the tray behind his head and it's snatched by someone, starting a chain reaction and within seconds the tray is back behind the bar.

"Impressive." Cas acknowledges, "I don't recall that from my past visits here."

"It's so totally cool right? Somehow some table started with it and now it's an unwritten rule that empty glasses and trays are passed back. I think they once ran out of glasses and stuff because people couldn't pass them back or so." Charlie quips in while awkwardly standing up and pushing her hips forward into the table so Dean can squeeze in under her, and plops right back onto his lap. Cas notices Deans' arm sliding along her waist, securely holding her in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, again, for the delay *sigh*


	17. Appreciation, Part One: Guyamas Sonora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna held true to her word, she let Castiel speak and said nothing, although by her expression and the tense way she held her shoulders, her brother knew she was swaying between _what the ever loving fuck_ and _oh baby bro talk sooner to me_.

"Come on _nnn_ ," Anna whined, "you need to speak to me, sweetie. Why did  _Lisa_ have to call me, informing me that  _she's_   _collecting my brother, from a police station, mind you,_  and you didn't even think of calling me? Really? After all this shit with Mi-- shit, did  _he_ do anything?" 

Anna is a sister by choice too, not only because they are related by blood.

So when she had all but barrelled through Cas' flat door on Thursday, he had seen so many emotions crossing her face. Anger. Trepidation. Fear. Readiness for a fight. Perhaps another few that passed too quickly across her face, but no matter, when her eyes fell on Castiel they all got pushed back to allow one simple emotion to stay. Love.

Lisa had stayed with the two of them dutifully for a short while but had, after very quickly downing her tea, retreated back to her home - mumbling a piss-poor excuse of _having to water her plants_ , but with a promise of pudding spoken softly before closing the door - Anna had squished her entire body onto the couch, turned around, tucked her chin to her knees, one hand shooting out to catch hold of Castiel's arm to pull him nearer to her. Her face fell when Castiel began to rise instead - until he had smiled and told her that he was going to make fresh tea. While he waited for the kettle to bring the water to a boil, Anna had gone to the bedroom to get another quilt. She then went rummaging through the kitchen for some chips or cookies, a pleased look spreading across her face when she found the fennel cookies Castiel always made sure to have in stock.

Soon, they were snuggled on the sofa, sipping tea and noshing on cookies. Anna held true to her word, she let Castiel speak and said nothing, although by her expression and the tense way she held her shoulders, her brother knew she was swaying between  _what the ever loving fuck_  and  _oh baby bro talk sooner to me_. 

During his entire speech, which might have taken between twenty minutes and an hour and a half, Anna had slotted their legs together; the way they've done ever since Castiel can recall them doing it: legs angled at the knee, slotted together patterned Anna-Cas-Anna-Cas, half-sitting on the toes of the other. An inverted Kappa-Logo of sorts, enclosing the other and promising familiarity and warmth since they had understood what  _distance_ meant when they were, what, - four? Three?

 

It was a silent confession, mostly, soft and pained and loving glances exchanged, enhanced with a hand to a shoulder, a slide of a finger to dab a way a tear, Castiel rubbing Anna's nose with the sleeve of his pullover, erasing a little bit of the almost dropping truth that had brought them close like this.

 

Their first talk after Sunday had been painful, but this talk received first place by far. Anna felt like a failure, never noticing Castiel's anxiety, ignoring that he was adamant that she couldn't have known anyway, seeing that he hadn't spoken of it. Castiel felt like a failure for hurting his sister, in turn. 

She hadn't asked too much about what he had told at the station, only if she is to expect a call, or if she could prepare something - a list of what she remembers, anything. Castiel shrugged, uncertain.

"We'll see. I admit, I didn't like it, and I'd wanted to stop. I mean... The man I spoke with was genuinely nice and I didn't feel rushed but I felt so - ashamed, I think. Like I didn't  _need_  to to this, but he assured me that I'm doing great, actually, and that it's so very important to do it. And guess what, he asked me directly whether I'm ashamed." 

Sip, nibble, sip. 

With his left hand, he dismissively waved the air away from him while continuing, "Front out, no hidden agenda." Anna had nodded a few times in quick succession, urging him to continue, though by her biting her lips he knew she was only so keeping herself from speaking.

  
"And then he continued, and told me I really should work on not being ashamed at all but instead proud of what I'm doing, like, triumphing over my fear and whatnot. Guess my expression was a ' _not too convinced_ '-one,"- and here, Castiel made his famous quotation marks - "Because he told me it might take some time, months even, to feel the change, and that it's entirely possible that a part of that, dunno, fear, shame, you name it, will always be an almost invisible presence in the back of my head. And that that's normal, like, part of me and it'd turn out okay, in the end, but for that, I need to be able to trust again. And that," and now, the most vibrant emotion in Castiel's face Anna saw was trust, thinly veiling the anxiety and fear her brother had worn for the entire time he had spoken, "I need to keep close to those who'd never hurt me with intention. Anna I'm really sorry for all this mess, I- I ne- Inever - I didn't even notice I had turned away from you."

There hadn't been much talking afterwards, there hadn't been a need for it right then. But when Castiel had finally let himself pour out the other part of the fear, the one his body had demanded for hours, days, maybe weeks and had rested his head on his knees, knee-caps slightly pressing into his eye-sockets as if he could keep the moisture in by hermetically closing the exit - then, Anna had skidded even closer, gentle fingers brushing through his hair, and renewed promises he never knew were spoken before. That she'll stay, always. That she couldn't stop loving him, even if she had wanted. That she'll stay by his side, fight with him and for him, and even move with him if it turned out necessary. That she'll never allow anyone to get between them like this again.  

And he remembered, their hushed talks long after the lights-out, tip-toeing into each other's room only to whisper, tucked under one blanket, for what then seemed hours - about summer plans, crushes, the fear of being rejected after a confession, anything really, and in her loving wisdom, Anna has always had an answer to calm him. 

' _One foot after the other, baby brother._ '

 

Some time later, soft knocking pulled both of them back to the here and now, and Castiel was greeted with a cautious, but nonetheless smiling Lisa and fresh-made pudding, still a bit too warm to be eaten right away. Lisa had quickly scanned both Anna's and Castiel's faces, but didn't comment on neither the puffy eyes or red-rubbed noses, she didn't even scrunch her face when she sat next to the used tissues, only picked them up and threw them away (she had explained to Castiel, that after a child - throwing up, sneezing, peeing  _and_ pooping on her, sometimes two or of these actions at once - nothing seems too gross). 

After washing her hands, she boiled some more water for tea and they had turned on the TV, though not one of them was really watching. It was a watered down scene of the evenings they sometimes had. None of the usual joking. Silent. 

 

Anna had then soon gotten up to leave, having an early morning the next day and needing to prepare something ahead for class. Lisa had hunted through Cas' kitchen for tupper ware to pour some of the pudding into it. It had been accepted with a tired, but genuine smile.

And now, here they are, and Castiel has given Lis the bare minimum of what had happened, guiltily careful to not reveal too much - although he felt she deserved to know, picking him up and everything - but mostly careful to keep Ben from hearing. The kid was empathic and kind-hearted like his mother. No need to scare him, he'll get to know the painful side of life soon enough, with puberty only a few years away. 

And now, here he is, waiting for Lisa to tuck Ben in and the spiked cocoa to start doing it's job, and - and he doesn't know how to feel about the picture of what obviously is a  _family home_ , with Ben and Lis and Dean. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fall in love with **Beirut** , for example with [**Guyamas Sonora**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-uVhAjpEslY)
> 
> comments and feedback as to the story development are greatly appreciated, alllllllllways :)


	18. Appreciation: Part Two: I Do Not Want This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Look at me, babbling." Lisa bottom-ups her mug, licks away her cocoa-beard and looks funny at Castiel. "Honey, don't get me wrong. I cared for Dean, and still do, but in a friendly-brother-sort of way. So there is no interest on my part to pursue him, okay?"

When Lis returns, she notices him staring at Ben's drawing.

"We were at the zoo then, and Dean doesn't even like zoos, you know, he thinks its awful that animals are caged. But I think he is still stumped about what's worse, animals being caged but held safe, you know, especially the endangered species, or to let them roam free but unprotected. He'll likely start a rant about that it's us human's fault in the first place for hunting them down to low numbers, not allowing nature and natural occurrences and evolution make changes like it has done for millions of yea-- aaanyway, on the drive back Ben had dreamed up some kind of super-animal, see?", she points at the freakish but cute chimera of a giraffe, a horse and a seal- no, dog, it's definitively supposed to be a dog, "and Dean is really great with kids, he's really loving and - oh, don't get me wrong, Ben is not Dean's, yeah? I can assure you that if he had a child he'd do his best work it out with the mo- his partner, so that the kid has both parents. He is truly amazing."

Something about this irritates Castiel, he doesn't know exactly what. It's been a long day, and he hadn't even showered after his escapade in the ladies' room at uni. Maybe it's his tiredness, maybe it's that Lisa speaks differently now. She appears to be truthful, still, but something is off.

"Yes, he seemed to be a genuinely warm and caring person, no matter his relationship to the other party."

"I know, right? He's an excellent man, really. Downright, hands up, top of the class, letter of recommendation given with ease."

Charlie. There's Charlie. Or maybe Castiel is part of an dying race of monogamous people. Not that it's wrong to not be, if all involved parties agree, but, this seems... different.

"I do not know him that well. I have met with Charlie, too, though shortly, but she was admirable. They are both great." Castiel prods gently at the topic occupying his mind.

"Oh, yes, Charlie, she's dynamite. I haven't seen her in ages."

Castiel's irritation grows parallel to Lisa speaking about Dean. Does she not know about Charlie? Or does she not care? Or do all of them not care? If the first, is it his place to let her know? If it is the latter two, he is somewhat disappointed in Lisa, but feels sorry for her, too.

"Look at me, babbling." Lisa bottom-ups her mug, licks away her cocoa-beard and looks funny at Castiel. "Honey, don't get me wrong. I cared for Dean, and still do, but in a friendly-brother-sort of way. So there is no interest on my part to pursue him, okay?"

"I hadn't-" - "I _know_ that frown, both you and Anna accompany it with your thoughts of either disapproval, precariousness or wariness." She shushes him.

"I can assure you," she resumes while covering his hand with hers, "that, no matter how much I have a soft spot for Dean as a person, I care nothing for him as a woman does for a man."

With that, she stands up to make another spiked cocoa, snatching Castiel's by now empty mug too and hums while mixing a promising rum with some cocoa, her back to Castiel.

 

This gives Castiel a few minutes of introspection.

Castiel isn't falling for Dean. For sure. He's seen the man for all of what, two hours tops? The few messages exchanged are nothing special, just two guys making plans with other people attending, too. So nothing reminiscent of a date.

And even if Castiel maybe, perhaps, _somehow_ had a notion of getting to know Dean better, the thought alone is frightful. Not only because of Michael, and whatever this kind of development in fact means for Castiel as a person and his character in general -  how easy it is to impress him with thoughts as if he is not able to form his own, somehow; but also because it'd be way too soon, to find trust and - huh, it's impossible, too, that's what.

Certainly, Dean is an attractive - a very, _very_ aesthetically pleasing man - but Castiel can appreciate the beauty of a person without being attracted to them. Or, if he is, he can admire their charm and allure in a neutral sort of way.

And yeah, sure, Dean isn't homophobic, apparent by him stepping in and his all-covering genial and tender behaviour towards Castiel, even continuing after Sunday, all buddy-buddy with picking up Anna and himself on Friday.

Damn, the man would likely even serenely thank a gay guy for showing interest, accepting the compliment as it is and not see it as an offence some like to find in being deemed attractive.

In any way, it is not of import.

No need to fall for a taken man, or a man who, even if unattached, clearly does not share the same _inclination_ as Castiel.

So there really is no need to ask Lis about Dean, either. Undoubtedly, if Ben was their child, there'd be a good reason for them not being together but still on friendly terms. And they hadn't brought a life together into this world, they were simply friends. Friends with history. Friends with a heterosexual history, just as heterosexual Dean has a heterosexual inclination and heterosexual relationship with Charlie. Castiel's inner rainbow sniffs petulantly at the _too much of no homo in that train of thought_.

By then, Lisa is back with her damned steaming rum which carries a hint of coco. So Castiel thanks her for the hot _cocoa_ , with a wink, and they spend the rest of the evening in companionable silence, the rum warming him from the inside out and making his toes tingle.

 

 

The next day, seven in the morning sharp, Castiel feels simply awful. He's not hungover, although he did expect at least some reaction to the rum. No, it's worse.

Having no lecture to attend to, he is left alone with his thoughts and they start to form a Downward Spiral like only Trent Reznor knows how to deal with: drugs and a lot of empty-minded fucking. At least his phone is silent for most of the day, apart from a text from Anna about her bringing cookies baked with her class, and a weird picture Gabe sends. It's of a - something. He'll ask later. Maybe.

He needs a distraction. Shopping groceries goes by faster than he anticipated, even by walking to the Exotic Supermarket by foot for twenty minutes in each direction. He puffs up his cheeks, glancing around and decides that it is time for a late spring cleaning par excellence. He strips his bedding and puts it in the washer, hovers the mattress, dusts out the pillows, airs his bedroom.

 

He's scrubbing every cranny and nook in his flat, sorting out things he doesn't need or want any longer. Anna comes over around one and helps sorting through the piles, asking if she could have this or that for her class, and they spend most of the time with Baionarena on repeat, with the odd failure of Castiel singing along, or Anna having the voice but no clue of Spanish and mouthing along. She had once been the reason for an almost-fight in a Latino bar because she had tried, attempted, really, to speak it in the open. Yeah. A cute, but macho-alpha-type guy had hit her up and dared her something in an attempt to engage her into flirting back. She'll likely never mix up pudo and puto again, but it had taken a lot of calm talking on Castiel's side to keep full bottles flying their way, bought especially to increase the impact.

"You know, you have a ton of stuff," Anna huffs as they clean out another box with old shirts, "And this," she holds out a light-blue coloured tank top, squinting at the item, "Yeah, you could pull it off if wearing you want to press the twink factor."

She can feel Castiel roll his eyes and flips him off without turning around.

"I know, which is why I decided to clean the apartment from all things I don't need or want any longer."

He does not miss the glance she gives him then, and the smile that spreads across her face when she replies, "Yes, honey, and I am so very happy you decided to do this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and feedback as to the story development are greatly appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> x) Feel pain with one of the greatest albums published by **Nine Inch Nails** when Trent Reznor pulled us down into his personal hell with Halo 8 in 1994, titled: [**The Downward Spiral**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5lQwJqrjkM). Title Song: [**I Do Not Want this**](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5lQwJqrjkM&t=32m31s)
> 
> x) Fall in love with **Manu Chao and Radio Bemba Sound System** sharing love and happiness with the world in La Plaza De Toros De Bayona (Francia) in 2008, for more than two hours: [**Baionarena.**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UlDzZ5DtLc) Watch these gods making funny faces while they play because they love it. The smiling granny in the first row @29:23+ is proof that they make life enjoyable.  
>  * Also, please notice the ☆ FUCKER stamp in the upper right corner of the video. Yes. My taste in music is quite distinguished, thank you very much.
> 
> x) also, yes, I love [**PROSI ExoSup**](http://www.prosisupermarket.com) which takes pride in serving [customers from more than 100 countries on a daily basis](http://www.prosisupermarket.com/our_customers.php). Hello from Vienna ;)


	19. The Pit: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between sorting the clothing, Castiel finishes the rice and curry and they sit down to eat. Nothing has changed, Anna still tries to steal his bell peppers and exchange them for her carrots when both pretend that Castiel is not looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference
> 
> The song I'm referring to is by **Die Toten Hosen** (lit. The Dead Pants), from Auswärtsspiel, published in 2002, and the song [**"Steh' auf, wenn du am Boden bist"**](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=htpUIeUPrm8&t=00h44m16s) (Get up when you're on the ground) is a pick-me up song that has really taken deep roots in my heart. The moment when 95.000+ fans stood up as one person was - uh, amazing doesn't even cover it. We were one, we were legion.  
>  I had goosebumps and damned lump in my throat because it was epic. Witness the exact moment [**here**](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=htpUIeUPrm8&t=00h45m52s)

 

 

 

 

"Yes, honey, and I am so very happy you decided to do this."

Anna's smile has a tinge of sadness still hidden somewhere in one of the laugh lines next to her eyes and mouth, but mostly it's real happiness and with an unspoken agreement they continue.

Time flies by, and around three in the afternoon they have managed to work over everything and all that is left is to comb over the last bit and pieces Castiel is unsure if he wants to keep them or not. It's not so chaotic as to deem a visit from an outsider - Dean, specifically - impossible, and by the looks of it, it is clear that it was not a wild animal rooting through Castiel's flat or him pigging-out during the week.

Still, Castiel wants to finish today. The donation centres are open until 6, and they, for whichever stupid reason, are not allowed to accept donations without registering them in the later hours of the shelters. Bal and Gabe had, years ago, worked out a money-laundering, cocaine selling, Mafia-style theory that (unsurprisingly) featured gen-manipulated angry chickens, also known as Velociraptors, which the siblings found both fascinating while being drunk but dismissed it quickly nonetheless.

This gives them enough time to clean up the rest and for Dean to pick them up.

That is what he thinks while Anna talks to Gabe - who, it turns out, needs them, both, to wait in his flat for a 'delivery that absolutely cannot wait over the weekend, and I get off at six, ladies, and never-ever- _ever_ could I manage to pick it up until six thirty, and I  _neeeee_ ' - Castiel taps the speaker off and let's Anna deal with the wailing of a grown ass man. She flips him off again and he returns the favour by sticking his tongue out at her.

 

Anna listens for a few moments and then she cuts in, telling Gabe to ' _wait, I gotta talk to Cas, we have plans dipshit_ ' and presses the phone to her breast and grumbles almost immediately: "Ch _rist_ , Gabe can be be such a pain in the-" and looks rather forlorn at her brother. If Castiel didn't know, he'd say she would want to call their mother to tell Gabe off.

"Yes, he can be..." Castiel guffaws, "quite  _adamant about the immediate and inevitable presence of either of us_ , I think he once said." Sobering up, he resumes, "But it's always been with a good reason when he was so... forceful."

"Yeah, at least for Gabe it was," Anna sighs. "You know it'll get worse soon if we don't decide quickly."

Castiel can hear - and in his mind's eye see, too - Gabe whining and weaselling his way under Anna's skin. By the slump of her shoulders, she is close to saying yes. It's hard to say no to Gabe, as obnoxious and torturing as he can be if he wants - this high-level whining reckons it is a very important delivery.

"Alright, let the big baby have his white lady delivery or whichever sugar snow he ordered today or we'll never have a peace of mind for at least a week," Castiel voices the only real option they have.

"Oh, but make sure to transmit that we have had a previous engagement we are to keep and that this is at such a short notice it is up to him to either pay our fare for the taxi to the Pit or bring us there, by seven at the latest, or so help me it's the last time we'll help him and the next time he expects a delivery, it'll be a death blow to end his ass untimely, after the fact that I'll have destroyed every sweet stuff available on this planet and  _made him watch it_."

Apparently Gabe has sat satellite sized ears despite his size, because all Anna needs to ask is, "Did you catch that?" and if Cas didn't know she genuinely liked the dude, he'd see a cruel smile instead of a friendly one in his sister's face.

The ' _Whooohoooo, you guys ownnnn iiiit_ ' can be heard without the speaker just fine, too. Technic advancement and whatnot.

 

Anna is efficient, merciless and quick. Their deal is that Gabe will come over during his break with his car, bring the moving boxes he inexplicably always has stashed somewhere, help with the loading and unloading at the donation centre, then bring them over to his place and then drive them to the Pit, promising to make sure they'll be inside at seven sharp at the latest. Obviously Gabriel is still crying the blues, but consents and Anna gives the rolling-eye-thumb-up-combo.

So Castiel shoots off a message to Dean that they'll bring themselves over. After waiting for the little ticks to show the message was received, Castiel is kneeling in front of what once were his favourite pullovers and sweaters in high school. It's funny how large a little thing can get, and then grow even more.

Dean's reply doesn't come within the next twenty-ish minutes, so the little ball of dread of having offended him starts growing teeth and attempts to gnaw at Castiel's insides. And it almost catches onto his soft insides until he shoots it down with a dose of self-respect and a reminder that it's Friday and not everyone's shift ends at twelve.

He puts down the sweater, a little bunched up in the fist his hands are forming. His head dips down and he slowly breathes in, holds his breath, breathes out. 

Beyond doubt, it is short notice but Castiel is - well, tries to be - done with being apologetic for having a life of his own, a life that is connected to more than one person, that is not centred around one single person.

If Dean gets annoyed and makes a fuss about this, Castiel is better off without him anyway. He kicks the little ball of dread out of his insides and decides that it's time for some food. He hunts through the fridge freezer and - yep, there, the veggie curry he made two weeks ago that Anna had always inhaled with relish. He nukes the curry on low and begins washing the rice. He'll let it soak first, that'll give him time for the frozen food to thaw well.

 

"Is that...?" Anna is already grinning, positively salivating, at the prospect of stuffing her face the colourful food. She usually had helped chopping the veggies, cried because ' _the onions are darn good but darn do they burn_ ', was at first relentless every time to "help", but usually just about burnt the onion-garlic-vingar base for the curry because she got sick from the smell and was deftly kicked out of the kitchen. She was rewarded with a taste right from the cooker though. 

Castiel wonders how long she hasn't eaten this dish. Before the little ball can start growing again, he pushes these thoughts back instantaneously and actively focuses on his sister being here, with him, now, of her own free will, unforced, and that she is here to stay.

Between sorting the clothing, Castiel finishes the rice and curry and they sit down to eat. Nothing has changed, Anna still tries to steal his bell peppers and exchange them for her carrots when both pretend that Castiel is not looking.

They slurp their food like true heathens who enjoy their food while watching a video of Rock am Ring, and Castiel is gushing about this band, especially when _Campino_ made more than 95.000 visitors sit down before starting the song "Steh' auf, wenn du am Boden bist" only to make them stand up as one body.

 

"What does he sing about again? I can read and talk with them if they speak slowly but this is too fast for me, you know, the rhythm is off," Anna asks right before stuffing her face. "Uh, it's really a simple song, lyric wise, but I love it. He says, stand up when you're down on the ground. That's it really. See this?" Castiel turns the volume up a bit, "this here is 'Und wenn dich ein Sturm in die Knie zwing, halt dein Gesicht einfach gegen den Wind' and it means when a storm pushes you down onto your knees, put your face against the wind, like- just don't give up, never cease to fight for a clear view of the world and look up always." and he presses pause "I love that he says that all you have to keep going, that even the darkest clouds above your head will go away some time."

"Shit," Anna responds like the lady that she is, then takes another fist-sized bite out of Castiel's bowl, "But hell will freeze over before they ever come over here, huh?" 

"Oh, they've been here as a opener for Green Day I think, only a few months after Kurt died, so what, ninety-four? They might, but it's unlikely. If they do, we must go, right?" Castiel just remembers in time to add, "Though, no mosh pit for you, you don't mosh fair."

Anna grins. "Shut up, I'm adorable in a mosh pit, they don't call me righteous fury for nothing." 

"Uh-huuh, and you're supposed to provide the molding shape for young minds of our future generations to evolve? Cthulhu help us," Castiel teases.

They banter a bit while the band continues their magic on stage, then wash up and finish the room, just in time for Gabe to rush in, demand food, haul them off and bring them to Purgatory just close after six thirty. Checking his phone, Castiel notices two messages. 

"Okay, we are supposed to look for a bearded bear." 

"A what?"

"Look, it says it right here. A a bearded bear."

"STOP rhyming and let's go," Anna shoves him to the door and they are soon engulfed by an admirable number of visitors, smoke, the smell of stale beer and Castiel really hopes they'll find Dean and the others soon. He isn't claustrophobic, per se, but it'd be nice to be able to put their messenger bags under their table or at least get rid of their jackets.

 

He spots a promising flash of red and nudges Anna, bringing his face near to her ear "I think our table is that way, come on." Luckily, he in fact did spot Charlie whose smile blooms as quickly as she registers him. She beckons them closer and at the same time leans forward across the table, waving her hand in front of a sandy-crowned head.

"Dean. Oi, Dean. Yo, Dean-o!" Castiel can only assume that Dean received quite a kick under the table by the way he jumps. 

After exchanging pleasantries,  _officially_ , and speaking for a few minutes, Castiel hopes for the best when he asks Charlie and Benny (apparently, he is the bear) to keep a lid on what had transpired the day before. Benny looks up and grins, so Castiel turns around. 

He had made sure to time him checking out the area when Dean started twisting his body from his seat, and sliding into his seat. 

Now, Dean is obviously fighting to keep their drinks balanced, his internal monologue of despair and anguish of letting the tray slip apparent on a frowning face.

 

To Cas, Dean looks adorable. And relieved when he can put down the drinks and gets rid of the ridiculously small tray. 

"It's so totally cool right? Somehow some table started with it and now it's an unwritten rule that empty glasses and trays are passed back. I think they once ran out of glasses and stuff because people couldn't pass them back or so." Charlie quips in while awkwardly standing up and pushing her hips forward into the table so Dean can squeeze in under her, and plops right back onto his lap. 

Castiel notices Deans' arm sliding along her waist, securely holding her in place. 

He doesn't know how he should feel. Likely happy that two people can complement each with so much ease. He hopes the slight sting he feels is not jealousy because of Dean, since this would not only be rude but downright disgusting towards both of them, but because he would like to have this too. 

 

Before he can follow this particular train of thought, the tell-tale screech of a mic getting adjusted makes everyone at the table jump.

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your input and feedback are highly appreciated, as usual - am I going too slow, too fast ( _huh?_ ), am I stretching the story too far? have the dialogues gotten better because I seriously don't know :D xoxo from Austria, cupcakes.


	20. Charlie Is A Ninja

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Does that even make sense," he asks himself. His brain is all too happy to provide a clever comeback, "Your face doesn't make sense now shut up and look at the pretty demigod at the table."  
> Dean swallows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait. Does 'I'M working myself to Death' count as a valid excuse? Oh, and also, I had trouble to keep it light and I needed something positive, so I've been satiating my need for fluff at [5 minute drabbles](http://archiveofourown.org/series/345950) filled with fluff.

 

The concert is awful.

Well, the band is not, decidedly, they are  _slaying_ it as expected, but Dean is not really into it. 

 

He is, but isn't. "Does that even make sense," he asks himself. His brain is all too happy to provide a clever comeback, "Your face doesn't make sense now shut up and look at the pretty demigod at the table."

Dean swallows.

"And while we're on the subject," his stupid brain continues chatting, "better make sure his sister doesn't find out because how weird would that be, huh?" And now the bastard even morphs into the pitch Dean had during his puberty vocal change or the one when Charlie almost castrated him when they went bowling, and continues to mock Dean, "Oh, Anna, pleasure to meet you but I gotta admit, the first time I saw your brother I was contemplating on offering myself on the table he was sitting at."

Dean's libido then quips in, "YYEAaah, but rationalism is only for working days and I'd be on that man down so hard, remember the dream we had?"

To which his memory adds, dreamily, too, "Oh, yeah. Good dream. Especially when kept eye-contact but mouthed at our-"

"And it's time to SHUT UP," ratio provides again.

"Aawww but look at his forearms," libido pouts and memory nods, "Oh, yeah, they were featured too when he was knee-"

"I SAID shut UP," ratio growls.

Well. Dean cannot remember when he started to lose his mind but choreographing his thoughts as if he was at play at the theatre had helped him with his studies and still sometimes provides insights into what might otherwise turn into a cul-de-sac at work.  

The only problem? He can't keep still. Which, usually, is nothing, he can pace at work. But now, he has a healthy weight of woman sitting on his lap. 

 

"Dean, I swear to all that is holy, stop wriggling and stop slapping your flaccid crotch at me and start sitting still you evil pillow," Charlie hisses, right into the interim silence after the cheering and hollers stop and the singer draws a breath to probably cheer back. The ensuing silence is maybe a second long, but long enough for other tables to hear. Every. Word.

Benny snorts into his drink and Hannah buries the lower half of her face in her hands, at least  _attempting_ to conceal her high-pitched giggling, but Dean must look so mortified that she throws her head back and only manages to heave a hearty, "OHfuckingC _hrist_ how are you guys even real," before leaning onto Andrea and clucking away like the tipsy hen that she is.

Anna is staring open mouthed at the pair, then glances at Castiel with high-arched eyebrows that practically yell, "The hell just happened?," and coughs into her drink. 

Benny wipes his beerstache off, heavy body shaking with light tremors, and manages a rather high-pitched, "You two are really made... for each other," the level of his voice increasingly getting lower and lower as he tries to talk against the laughter in his chest. 

"You are... evil," he mutters into his beer, feeling the heat on his face and just knowing that he must be flushed as red as the tomato faces drawn in anime.

Hannah wipes off a bit of her make-up with an "Aw, man!" but heroically manages to not fall into giggles again, even when looking straight at a grinning Charlie.

 

The next time Castiel looks at Dean, he and Charlie are smiling at a phone emitting a soft light, and he is obviously smitten with the content. 

"A selfie, likely," Castiel's brain supplies, "Charlie's smile _is_ breathtaking though."

The band plays another couple of songs and soon after clearing the stage mingles with the thinning crowd. 

 

"Look, it's crib lock-up time," they hear from somewhere across the table. Castiel sees four undeniably buzzed dudes, of which one looks over. His glare is hungry, alpha-male and creepy as he roams over the people at Castiel's table and finally settles on to a target. He leans into his buddy's space, motions towards their table and drags the last bit of his drink down. Swiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater, he sways his way over.

"Hello there, sweet cheeks," he drawls, pushing himself between Benny and Dean's seat, "How about I get you a drink and we share our opinions on how to be properly used as a pillow privately?"

"Your breath stinks," Charlie smiles too sweetly and Hannah closes her eyes, mumbling a short prayer that suspiciously sounds like 'oh shit'.

"What did you say?" the man reels back a bit, bumping into Benny who calmly puts a hand on his shoulder and says, "Brother, don't, go back to your friends."

"I said, thanks, but I'm not interested," Charlie is still smiling, but Castiel can see that Dean has tensed, his lips a hard line, disapproval apparent on his face.

"Sure you are, you want to have a good time and I provide it," the tool continue and, as if to prove his point, manages to move his hips in thrust-like manoeuvres.

"I'm happy right with whom and where I am."

"Oh, but I'd like to know how much more you can do with that mouth of yours," and now Castiel can see how Benny presses his fingers into the dude's shoulder, but he is being ignored in favour of the idiot continuing after a leery up-and-down-glance at Dean's face and whatever he can see from his torso, and looks directly at Dean, "two fine pieces of ass like you, I don't mind sharing tonight."

 

Things might have escalated a little, Castiel thinks as he reflects later, brushing his teeth. While Castiel was never raised to think women weak, a feat made quite impossible with Anna as his sister and his mother being herself, he is certain that the brutal efficiency he saw Charlie ninja herself at the guy was military level.

She hadn't  _hurt_ him, but she very much moved like lightning and had him incapacitated with the promise of pain upon movement in less than two seconds. She hadn't even stood up, whatever she had done under the table, he had crashed down and had his head pressed against the sticky table and no uncertain terms were spoken with a coldness he hadn't thought Charlie capable of. But then again. Women are not weak, and he had it coming.

"Good thing the idiot was practically yelling at the end," Anna panted after not allowing her brother the luxury to show off he could climb all seven sets of stairs without a break, courtesy of a broken elevator, "otherwise," she wheezes, "I'm sure the chauvinistic bastard would've yelled crazy bitch and the bouncer would've only seen her move onto him. Which was awesome, by the way."

"I... I guess?" Castiel is genuinely attempting to keep his laboured breathing down. No need to lose the childish game and sound even worse than Anna.

"What? Should she have waited until a  _man_ came up to rescue her from that ass like some fucked up territorial pissing, the winner takes the spoils of war kind of thing Really? Won't help her when she's alone in an alley," Anna's tone is biting, but she knows, she knows Cas and Cas... knows, too, the double standards they live in and how Anna teaches kindness but also fairness, so he huffs a low, "No, sister, not that. Just." - "She was sitting on her boyfriends' lap for fucks sake." - "I know. It was degrading, and hurtful. It should be irrelevant if someone is sitting alone at a table or dressed however they like, he clearly crossed a line when he didn't leave her alone after she dismissed him."

"Yeah," Anna nods, "but she's bad _ass,_ Cas, did you see the move she put on him? She's  _golden_. Also, losers are going in second, the bath is mine first." With that, she stormed off into the bathroom. Castiel contemplates to turn off the warm water, but decides he'd like to keep his testicles for a bit longer.

Right now Anna is likely hogging all four of Castiel's pillows, and he replays the scene again.

So, the dude got thrown out and likely banned from the pub. Which is good, Castiel supposes, people talk, and being banned from the Pit is social suicide.

 

What makes him wonder is that, even though Dean kissed Charlie's cheek and said "Well done, darling, I'm proud," he hadn't asked if she was okay further, but had instead let Hannah take the red head's outstretched hand and lead her away, presumably to the loo.  The awkward silence that had followed Charlie's exit lasted just long enough for one of the waiters to bring a round on the house, by then the chatter had picked up again. 

Charlie had sat down, gulped the shot down like a pro. Castiel noticed that she was wearing Hannah's sweater and the sleeves were pulled down and over her fingers, and used as inconspicuously as possible as a tissue. 

Her and Hannah had stayed away for a while, and when they returned Charlie's eyes were a bit wider than before and her nose suspiciously rubbed red and notwithstanding the fact that her back was rigid and her head held up high, her voice was a bit smaller, her brightness a bit duller, when she announced, "Hannah and I are leaving, we called a taxi. You guys have fun, yeah? I just... I just need some time for me now."

Dean had risen, but was shushed back, "Nah, you stay, I'll be fine with Hannah." and had simply accepted it. 

Regardless, Dean hugged her and she did melt a little into the cage of warmth his larger frame provided. After kissing the top of her head, he added, "Text me when you get home, yeah? Love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was this development okay? My goal is to give more insight into their personalities but... there is so much :D  
> For this fic, fluff is in the making, but it'll be a longer journey. In case you decide to stick with me: thank you, and please please feel free to give feedback, on both the narrative style or errors or anything sore or good and.. yeah. tell me what you think, I am ready to learn.


	21. The World Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows what she looks like when she's trying hard to not cry, how her body tenses up, the vibration of adrenaline slowly ebbing away and the body demanding rest when it feels it can afford to assume safety.  
> So all he can do, because he knows, that she doesn't want to cry, is. Well. Keep it neutral, because she needs neutral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I had lost this chapter and was too depressed to re-write it. then I found it again. sorry if it's a bit dark, I'm at a dark place myself. nothing is going to happen to our babies however, I'll keep them from any further harm. you have my word.

 

 

Sam had send Dean a funny snap chat story when the bastard had made a pass at Charlie. 

Ignoring that she was with friends. Or that she was sitting on a man's lap and he ignored _that_ which should have at least somehow registered in his messed up world view as 'taken, back off' like the animal that he proved to be.

It's not that he had asked Dean to share, over her head as if Charlie was a piece of meat to be used between them, or called Dean a piece of ass. 

This is not the relevant part. It's without question that it was disgusting and Dean felt the heat he remembers from his first and only fight, back in secondary school, rise in his belly.

The relevant part is... he doesn't know. What counts is that Charlie stood her ground, and rightly so. Well done, too. 

 

But.

She was so small when he hugged her. If, just _if_ \- what if one time she is not fast enough. Or the other one is just as good as her, technique-wise. She's healthy, but still he felt her skeletal structure when he hugged her. Hell, he knows he can circle both her wrists with one of his hands. She is. Tiny. Not fragile like glass, but even more so just like glass at the same time.

Also.

It wasn't just that her body is smaller. She was smaller. Her smile was. Not like her. He knows her well enough. He knows what she looks like when she's trying hard to not cry, how her body tenses up, the vibration of adrenaline slowly ebbing away and the body demanding rest when it feels it can afford to assume safety.

So all he can do, because he knows, that she doesn't want to cry, is. Well. Keep it neutral, because she needs neutral. For now, for the few seconds it takes Hannah to wriggle herself away and around from the table.

So. He did what he knew would allow her to keep it together for a few more minutes. He kissed Charlie's cheek and said "Well done, darling, I'm proud," but refrained from asking, or feeling anything else.

 

The shit the bar tend had brought soon after, Jäger likely, burned in his throat just like the shame and repugnance he felt towards the other man. Charlie's hand was more steady than his own.

 

And he knew. Hunting the fucker down won't help. Not like that, not if he does it. And Cha-cha knows too, pushing him back onto the stool with "Nah, you stay, I'll be fine with Hannah."

But there are others, others who only see cause and effect and are neutral. 

So he had hugged her, and kissed the top of her head, he had to bend down for this and how is this fair, she's so tiny and small.

  
He thanked whichever supernatural being made her not hate him, but trust him, to lean into the hug, allowing him to kiss the top of her head which felt like a benediction granted by her to him.

 

 

"Text me when you get home, yeah? Love you."

"Love you too, you sap, now get back to our friends. Oh, if you come across Serhat's, bring me falafel?" She's looking up at Dean and it tugs at his heart to see the remnants of what adrenaline leaves in it's wake, the fear instilled from witnessing too many times what can happen in similar situations. He's pretty sure her mind's in overdrive, statistics, numbers black on white presenting proof no-one really wants to look at. But she doesn't want to talk about it. Not now, at least. He'll make the damned detour and bring three falafel dürüms. In case Hannah and her are tucked in by then, they can nuke them for breakfast, anyway. 

 

So, he lets her go.

Benny clasps his heavy hand onto Deans shoulder, bringing him back to reality. 

"She'll be fine, brother." Dean notices Anna's frown and Castiel's careful neutral expression, but can't make much from it and doesn't care right now, anyway.

"Uh. Right. I won't. I mea-," and thunks into the table when he turns around, his smile barely there and apologetic, "I'm really sorry, but I've gotta take care of something, yeah? You guys have fun. Andrea, take Benny's keys. Anna, pleasure to meet you, sorry for the abrupt ending of the evening. Hopefully we can repeat this. Not. The fun part, not the shit part. Sorry. I need to go," and with that he dashes after the two women. 

 

* * *

 

The silence at the previously cheery table is depressing, 

Castiel can hear Anna telegraphing him 'Let's get home' on their mental twin-line.

Nursing what remains in their glasses, Andrea breaks the awkward silence. 

"Guys, I'm done with this. Our silence doesn't change that he attacked her, and what she's done was good. It's terrible it happened at all, yeah, but she's got Hannah and Dean with her so she'll be okay. The booze in her system didn't help either, I bet she's more sentimental now than if she had been sober."

 

"So," she continues, glancing at the siblings, "how about you two joining us again next week? Benny can't keep the grill turned off for longer than five months and we're having a barbecue, a couple neighbours and in general friendly people only attending." She is patting the large man's thigh in such a way that allows to speculate he's had to fight a bit for being allowed to grill so early and _knows_ she's let him win this round. 

"You won't need to bring anything of course, first timers always have the benefit of being guests," she winks while continuing, "But if you want Kobe you might need to get that for yourself. Keep me posted, I'll chain my hubby so he won't eat it in your stead, promise."

"Uh. Thank you so much for the invite, but-" - "No but, come on. It's always fun, and I guarantee it will be even better than tonight since we won't need to yell at each other to talk." - "Yeah, Cas, let's go. We accept," Anna is grinning, and genuinely happy, "but," she presses on, "Cas and me are vegan, so we'll bring some extra food, yeah? And we've been raised right, I sign us up for veggie chopping duty. Or do you have other plans, bro?" She nudges Castiel with her shoulder. He's eyeing the couple, known to him for a couple of hours but already closer to him than Michaels friends have ever been over the course of several years.

  
"Yes, if you'll have us. Please. Thank you."

  
"Sure, darling, and you're in for a treat, we have other vegan guests and Benny won't admit it, but he starts to enjoy grilled tofu over spare ribs," Andrea is practically beaming happiness, and Benny downs the rest of his drink, tips of this ears tinted red. 

 

 

At home, Castiel stares at his counterpart looking back from the mirror.

He wonders what twist in life decides who gets to know nice people and who gets to know the dark side of people. Or maybe it's just some that are twisted and gnarly, seeding roots of doubt in to the very being of who they are supposed to yearn for. 

 

He spits the mouthwash into the sink and quickly sloshes water after, not wanting to allow grime to settle sooner than is inevitably happing anyway.

The towel is soft against his skin, but still here and there his scruff catches on to the little loops.   
"Do I need to shave," he debates on his way back, a poor attempt to keep his mind from running in circles about the frantic few days so far. While he tucks himself in and manages to get smacked in the stomach only once by Anna, who, even in her sleep, won't let go of a pillow without a fight, the thoughts return in quick succession. 

 

He broke up with Michael. For good. A stranger stood up for him, undeterred of becoming part of a public scene.

This stranger turned out to be what Castiel considers ideal. With the bonus of a silken voice, gentlemanly behaviour. Also. Bow legs.

Michael had been bothering him and when Castiel finally broke under the pressure, he met another amazing human being, this time again full of kindness and fiery energy, all wrapped up in a bouncy fuzzball of positivity.

And tonight he witnessed that fuzzy ball being cracked open under the force of similar ugliness and releasing well deserved wrath, only to collapse on itself under the emptiness the rage left behind. 

He falls asleep, mind pleasantly buzzing with the merciful quietness alcohol-induced tiredness provides, and dreams of green eyes and a warm smile, a freckled hand slapping at his own, and a voice that sounds questionably similar to Deans, accompanying "No, babe, you stick to your own plate and leave _my_ food in peace, this is Relationship one-oh-one, _dude_."

 

Castiel's jerks awake, turns around and groans in to the pillow he magically snatched from Anna. He's half awake, and likely won't remember this dream in the morning, but the warmth that spreads through his body makes him zonk out with a smile on his face and not have a care in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Dean seem cold/disinterested in Charlie's situation in the previous chapter? I felt he did, and here we learn why.  
> How do you like the development so far? is it too slow, should I hurry up? Should I switch less or make the time flow faster? Anything you'd like to read/witness? Your feedback is greatly appreciated and helpful.


	22. Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOT A CHAPTER. I profusely apologise for the weeks long silence on my part. For personal reasons I am currently unable to write, but it will be continued and fluff shall commence. Soon, I hope. Love, Eri

NOT A CHAPTER.

 

I profusely apologise for the weeks long silence on my part. For personal reasons I am currently unable to write, but **it will be continued and fluff shall commence**. Soon, I hope.

 

\- Eri


	23. HIatus Notice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story will continue, hopefully soon, but at the same time I do want to wriggle my fingers and in order to do so, pressure must go. It's A Regular Day is unneeded pressure, right now. 
> 
> I'm putting this stupid, beloved, but soon to be rather hated than continued series on indefinite hiatus. It feels terrible to have ideas pushed back because, "Well, continue *that* story first, finish what you started!" plucks them right away. 
> 
> Love, Eri (more blah-blah in the text)

In case anyone is still subscribed to this fic, or is reading this you would notice that I haven't updated in weeks. It's not that I've lost interest, or do not wish to continue this - I DO WANT TO - but I'm working myself to death with 70-80 hours per week (it's for a good cause, but f*ck me...) and the few little tidbits I wanted to publish, one-shots, mostly, I couldn't because of the frustration of not continuing It's A Regular Day. I felt pressured to continue this rather than pop out 1k-fics. Which is why I'm doing what's healthy for me.  
  
This story will continue, hopefully soon, but at the same time I do want to wriggle my fingers and in order to do so, pressure must go. It's A Regular Day is unneeded pressure, right now.

I'm putting this stupid, beloved, but soon to be rather hated than continued series on indefinite hiatus. It feels terrible to have ideas pushed back because, "Well, continue *that* story first, finish what you started!" plucks them right away.

**Feel loved, feel safe, take care of yourself and please, never, never, _never_ let anyone or anything destroy you. Which, haha, coincidently, would have been the moral of this story. Including, possibly, some light smutty-smut-fluff.**

**Love, Eri**


End file.
